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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293017">Your Friendly Neighbourhood Deadpool</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimohtar/pseuds/Nimohtar'>Nimohtar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Birthdays, Celebrating Holidays, Christmas Eve, Drug References (Blind Al), Easter, Easter Egg Hunt, Family, Fluff and Mush, Fourth of July, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Halloween, M/M, Making Friends, New Year's Eve, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day, christmas day, sprinkling of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:21:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>42,830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimohtar/pseuds/Nimohtar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aunt May moves to the small town of Berry Hill, MA for a new job, Peter doesn’t anticipate things will change too much in his own life. That is, until he meets the town’s self-proclaimed leather-wearing, katana-wielding local hero, a.k.a Your Friendly Neighbourhood Deadpool… </p><p>A story told in snapshots of holidays, where strangers become friends, and then something more.</p><p>Written for the Spideypool Big Bang 2020 Event.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Spideypool Big Bang - The 2020 Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Your Friendly Neighbourhood Deadpool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Oh my goodness. What to say. </p><p>Firstly, a HUGE thank you to Riseofthefallenone, because I kid you not, this story would never have been finished without her. She held my hand from beginning to end; she did research, she American-picked, she laughed at every silly joke and reference and idea I brought to her, and cheered me on with every single word I wrote, and I could not have done this without her. She has been the Best of Betas, and I have made a terrific friend. &lt;3</p><p>My thanks to my teammate, the wonderful artist Princesseellie3, who created these incredible pieces of work to go with the story https://princesseellie.tumblr.com/post/642595561271345152/ !</p><p>Lastly, a shout out to my fellow mods, MsCaptainWinchester and LunaStories, who both took the plunge and signed up as well. Not sure how many times we kept saying "never again!", except, promises, promises, right?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"><strong>Halloween</strong> </span>
</p><p>It had been a week since Peter and his Aunt May had officially moved to Worcester County, MA. From what little Peter had managed to see in between carting boxes from his car to the small two bedroom house they would be living in, there wasn’t a lot to set Berry Hill apart from any other suburban commuter town: similar looking family houses lined quiet roads, with broad leafy trees at even intervals along the sidewalk; the nearest main street was a five minute drive away, with mostly locally owned shops aside from the requisite Starbucks on the corner, with no real rail or bus connection to speak of. It felt traditional, and isolated, and as far from Queens as it could possibly be.  </p><p>There hadn’t been a lot of time between Aunt May being offered the job and the actual move. They’d spent a weekend discussing the offer, but the decision had been pretty much a given: as manager of the thirty-bed palliative care home, the salary increase alone was enough of an incentive, let alone the reduced rate on the rental property, and other benefits besides.  </p><p>Less than a week after she’d signed the new contract, they’d already been organising the rental of the apartment in Queens, and picking up the keys to their new home.  </p><p>It still felt unreal.  </p><p>It wasn’t like Peter’s own life would be that affected, at least for another year. He was in his fourth year of his graduate degree at MIT and would be at college most of the time, although he’d promised to come and visit May as often as he could.  </p><p>As brave a face as she always put on around him, and for all the enthusiasm she showed about her new job, Peter could tell she was just as unsettled by the changes. It was the little things that gave it away — the way she’d play with her wedding ring at the end of the chain she wore it on; sleepless nights and waking up to make hot cocoa at two in the morning as she used to while caring for Ben.  </p><p>Things had not been easy for them for a long while now — from the death of Peter’s parents, to Uncle Ben’s illness and passing…. </p><p>And now it was just the two of them, and Peter hoped it signalled a new start for them, and a change for the better.  </p><p>He’d taken some days off work to help with the move, which his professor had been kind enough to grant him; he supposed there was some benefit to being a bit of a teacher’s pet most of his life.  </p><p>What he’d thought would be plenty of time had flown by — taken up with cleaning up the new house, rearranging furniture to Aunt May’s changeable moods, and unpacking essentials. Before he knew it, it was Sunday afternoon and Aunt May was calling for a stop.  </p><p>“You’re driving back in the morning, and I have a new job to start,” she pointed out. “We’ve done enough for now. Besides — it’s Halloween!” </p><p>From one of the multitude of cardboard boxes, she pulled out several bags of sweets and a rather sad looking candle holder in the shape of a grinning jack-o’-lantern that he was sure they’d stuck in their window some five years ago.  </p><p>Peter raised an eyebrow. “Really? You decided to pack that?” </p><p>May waggled the ceramic pumpkin in his direction. “It’s a good way to meet neighbours.” </p><p>Peter couldn’t argue with that, and he was tired of unpacking anyhow. “As long as you’re not expecting me to go trick-or-treating.” </p><p>May whooped, and went haring off into the kitchen.  </p><p>Peter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Sometimes he wondered who was the adult in their relationship.  </p><p>With so little to work with, it didn’t exactly take long to get set up: May emptied their selection of sweets into a large plastic bowl and set it by the front door, and Peter took their poor excuse for a pumpkin onto the porch. As he lit the candle inside it, he could see a few children and their guardians gathering a bit further down the street, and expected they’d be getting some visitors soon.  </p><p>May took the first round of trick-or-treaters, while Peter hung back in the kitchen and got started on dinner. He could hear her exclaiming over costumes and praising the children for how scary they looked — even those dressed as cute princesses, Peter was sure.  </p><p>He used to wonder if May regretted not having children of her own; the one time he’d been brave enough to ask, she’d reassured him he was her child in all the ways that mattered. He’d not asked again.  </p><p>May took on the next few visitors, introducing herself and chatting to the parents escorting their children. Many of them were happy to stay and trade details — a newcomer to a town as small as this was always news. After they left, she’d come to the kitchen to give Peter a running commentary on who she’d met; she seemed to be enjoying herself, so Peter left her to it.  </p><p>They’d sat down to eat their baked potatoes and tuna when the doorbell rang again, and Peter had to wave her back down into her seat. “You eat,” he told her emphatically, “it’s my turn.” </p><p>He donned the rather dodgy-looking witch’s mask May had pulled out from somewhere — complete with scraggly green hair and attached black hat — and grabbed the bowl of sweets from the bottom step on his way to the front door; he was preparing a suitably surprised and faux-scared gasp to greet the trick-or-treaters as he swung it open — only to freeze in real shock as he took in the person on his doorstep.  </p><p>The large-shouldered man was dressed from head to toe in a tight-fitting red and black leather suit, including a mask covering his face except for two white ovals marking his eyes. He had what appeared to be batons strapped to his back, and guns hanging off his utility belt. He was also, perhaps most bizarrely, holding out a bright pink Hello Kitty rucksack towards Peter, already half filled with chocolate bars and sweets.  </p><p>“Trick or Treat!” the man shouted. </p><p>“Um,” Peter replied, his voice muffled by his mask.  </p><p>His first thought was that perhaps it was a very large teenager, but no, it had definitely been a grown man’s voice, and that was <em> definitely </em> the body of a man — he hurriedly drew his eyes away from the rather tight crotch area — but what on earth was a grown man doing knocking on people’s doors for sweets…. </p><p>“Ohhhh!” The man exclaimed, drawing his backpack away. He scuffed his foot against the step in a show of awkwardness. “I know it’s common to just give the candy straight away, but I guess the tradition is ‘trick <em>or</em> treat’ so I really should have come prepared with a trick…” he babbled as he peered around himself, patting at his belt with one hand. “I guess I could cut off a finger and let it regrow...that might be a cool trick…” </p><p>“What?” Peter finally managed to find his voice and thrust out the bowl. “No! Just...take the sweets.” </p><p>Whoever he was, he could be mentally unwell, and if he happened to enjoy dressing up and going out with the kids on Halloween, what harm was there in it? Hopefully his carer or relative were about somewhere keeping an eye on him. </p><p>“Yay!” Easily diverted from his previous train of thought, the man leaned over the bowl of sweets and made a great show of “umming” and “ahhhing” as he prodded through them, like a child trying to find the best one. It was strange how expressive the face mask was, for Peter could clearly see the man’s indecision. </p><p>“Take a few,” Peter offered, and the man’s face lit up in excitement. </p><p>He was quick to transfer a few of the sweets into his backpack, and carefully zipped it closed before he threaded his arms through the straps and settled it on his back.  </p><p>“I like your costume,” Peter complimented him as he turned to leave; he had no idea what he was meant to be exactly (a ninja?), but it was clear he’d put effort into it.   </p><p>“Thanks! I made it myself,” he said, and then skipped down the stairs to the street. A few other kids in costume ran by and waved at him as he passed; he gave an energetic wave back. </p><p>Peter gave a small chuckle as he shut the door — both at the man’s antics and his own initial concern over nothing. He was clearly just a guy with some difficulties, but ultimately harmless; there had been countless like him in New York. </p><p>He pulled off the witch’s mask and returned to the kitchen where May was making progress on her meal. “All good?” she asked.  </p><p>“Yep,” he replied and sat down to join her. “Just meeting the locals.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Thanksgiving</strong> </span>
</p><p>The next month passed by quickly.  </p><p>Peter was kept insanely busy with juggling his own graduate studies in Chemical-Biological Engineering, and his duties as TA. Of course the professor would set a test on the last day before break and of course Peter was the one who had to mark the papers, which meant his supposed week off wasn’t as relaxing as he’d anticipated, and he’d not been able to get away until the last weekend before break was over — heading out when a lot of others were making their way back.  </p><p>Just as well the Parkers had never been Thanksgiving traditionalists.  </p><p>It was actually a relief to finally pack an overnight bag and lock up his dorm room in preparation for heading to Berry Hill; a long weekend with May was exactly what he needed.   </p><p>He pulled out his phone and tapped at the slightly cracked screen to dial her number. He had to juggle the phone and his bag in order to grab his keys from his pocket to unlock the car.  </p><p>“<em> Hey Petey </em>!”  </p><p>“Hi Aunt May. Just letting you know I’m about to head out…I’ll be with you in about an hour?” he told her, dumping his bag in the back and sliding into the front seat. He wedged the phone under one ear as he stuck the key into the ignition. Heat immediately blasted towards him and he gave a little shiver.  </p><p>“<em> Great! Something’s come up and I’ve had to work a little later tonight, so you may get home before me — and oh! Just remembered I ran out of milk this morning. I’m not sure I’ll have a chance to pick any up —  </em>” </p><p>“I’ll pick some up, don’t worry,” Peter interrupted her with a little laugh. “Anything else you want? You still up for a movie tonight?” </p><p>“<em> You bet. Got a great selection picked out. </em>” </p><p>“As long as it’s not ‘A Christmas Story’,” Peter warned.  </p><p>“<em> I swear. Scouts Honor </em> .” There was a pause in which Peter was sure May was actually making a salute. “ <em> As for snacks, maybe popcorn? Salted of course </em>.” </p><p>“Milk. Popcorn. Got it,” he listed.  </p><p>“<em> Oh you’re a star </em> ,” she told him. “ <em> Now remember to drive safe — it’s late! </em>” </p><p>It wasn’t nearly as late as May was making out — barely eight in the evening, though Peter supposed it might be late according to her new suburban lifestyle. In Queens, it would still be considered early.  </p><p>It did mean though that by the time he made it to Berry Hill the only store open was the one attached to the gas station a few minutes’ drive from the house, so he dutifully headed in that direction. Pulling into the empty parking lot, he got out and locked the car, then headed inside.  </p><p>The bell above the door gave a tinkle as he entered, and he nodded at the middle-aged man behind the counter as he passed by on his way down the aisles. He got the requested milk and popcorn, and then simply took his time browsing, in no particular rush, picking up items here and there to add to his basket.  </p><p>The bell sounded a second time — a tingle lanced down his spine, and the hairs on his arms stood on end; a moment’s warning before he heard the telltale sound of a gun cocking and a harsh voice demanding, “Empty the till, now!” </p><p>It didn’t take much to realise the danger not only he, but the clerk too, was in, and he very carefully bent down to place his basket on the floor beside him, before slowly creeping his way down the aisle.  </p><p>He reached the end and took in the situation before him: a man in a ski-mask and denim jacket was pointing a gun at the cashier, who had his arms raised in the air, but otherwise didn’t seem nearly as fearful of the situation as Peter had expected. From his position in the last aisle, the robber couldn’t see him, but he managed to catch the clerk’s eye, and tried to look as reassuring as possible.  </p><p>“Easy man, no need for anything sudden,” the clerk said, and for a second Peter wondered if he was directing the statement at him — but dismissed it as a silly thought, and instead turned his focus on the robber, watching intently and waiting for an opportunity to act.  </p><p>“The till, now!” the robber shouted. </p><p>“Of course, of course, just give me a minute,” the clerk said easily, slowly reaching over to ping open the till. He began to pick up bills a small handful at a time, and Peter suddenly realised he was being deliberately slow.  </p><p>Unfortunately, the robber noticed too. “Are you trying to fuck with me?” He shoved his gun against the clerk’s chest. “Did you call the cops? I’m gonna shoot you if you called the cops.” </p><p>“No cops,” the clerk answered, “I swear.” </p><p>“If you’re fucking with me — ”  </p><p>There was the sudden sound of a toilet flushing from somewhere in the back, and a door slammed shut.  </p><p>Everyone froze.  </p><p>“Woo, Pedro, I would <em> not </em> go in there for a while! Those burritos really did a number on my number two, if you get my meaning,” a voice Peter recognised announced cheerfully and the man from Halloween appeared around the opposite aisle, adjusting his groin area. He was dressed as before in red and black leather, his face covered by his mask.  </p><p>With dismay, Peter wondered how he was going to keep all three of them safe — and it <em> was </em> going to be up to him, he knew, because he couldn’t be sure if the clerk had called the cops, and the masked man wasn’t going to be any help —  </p><p>Except that he’d stopped short on seeing the scene in front of him, the white patches covering his eyes narrowing dangerously, his hands fisting on his hips. “What do we have here?” he asked, rhetorically. The threat in his tone was palpable, and the sudden flare of his senses took Peter by surprise. What had happened to that childish man from Halloween?  </p><p>The robber seemed to view him as a greater threat, and swung his gun round to point at the red-masked man. He, at least, seemed even edgier at the newcomer’s appearance. “Hey! Put your hands up!” </p><p>The man ignored him, looking towards the cashier. “Pedro, you good?” he asked.  </p><p>“All good, DP,” the cashier answered, stepping away from the counter with an expression of relief on his face.  </p><p>The man — DP? — turned to look back at the robber. “Arms or legs?” he asked, even as he began rotating his neck one way and the other, then stretching first his left and then right arm across his chest, and finally leaning down to touch his toes.  </p><p>The robber wasn’t the only one confused — both by the question, and the bizarreness of the situation. “What?” </p><p>“Dealer’s choice, then!”  </p><p>Before anyone could react, DP propelled himself into the air in a rather spectacular flying leap, his leg kicking out at the robber. There was a very audible crunching sound as his boot connected with the man’s outstretched arm, followed by a scream of pain as the man dropped his gun and clutched at his elbow. It wasn’t the end though: as DP came to land, he swung out a fist at the man’s face. There was a spray of blood as his nose shattered, and he dropped into an unconscious heap on the floor at DP’s feet.  </p><p>“Surprise option C — <em> nose job </em>!” DP crowed gleefully, fist pumping the air.  </p><p>“Cops are on their way, DP,” the cashier said, coming out behind the counter and peering down at the bloodied man on the floor.  </p><p>“I guess I’ll take out the trash and wait for them, then,” DP stated. He bent down and seized hold of the robber’s ankle and proceeded to drag him none-too-gently towards the doorway. The man’s head thumped against the step, and the door closed behind them with another merry tinkle.  </p><p>Peter finally managed to make himself move, straightening from his crouch and exiting the aisle.  </p><p>He honestly didn’t know what had just happened.  </p><p>He’d thought this guy was <em> harmless </em>?  </p><p>The cashier turned to him and smiled. “You okay there, kid? It was good of you to want to help, but no need to get involved when DP’s around to take care of it.” </p><p>“DP?” he asked, his eyes drawn to the window; he couldn’t see the man anymore, but he heard some offbeat singing coming from outside.  </p><p>“Ah, you must be new around here,” the cashier assumed correctly, and laid a friendly hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Deadpool named himself our resident crimefighter a few years ago.” </p><p>At least now he knew what DP stood for, and had something to call the masked man. As for being the resident crimefighter.... Of course Peter was familiar with superheroes that lived in big cities like New York, and there was his own aborted stint as one, but to have someone like that in this sleepy suburban town? Besides —  </p><p>“He...doesn’t come across as your typical hero,” Peter said tactfully. The clerk appeared to be friendly with the costumed man, and Peter didn’t want to offend.  </p><p>The other man just shrugged. “He’s a little odd, I grant you, but he’s done the town a world of good.” </p><p>Peter was distracted from the conversation by the arrival of the police; red and blue lights flashed and sirens sounded as a car drew into the parking lot. The cashier seemed happy to accompany him outside, and they stood together and watched as the now conscious but still fairly dazed would-be-robber was looked over by an MT, and eventually handcuffed and settled into the back of the car. </p><p>It took half an hour for the officers to speak to all of them and take down their statement of events; Peter kept his brief and factual, and his eyes kept sliding over to Deadpool.  </p><p>The costumed man was the last to give his statement, and he spent his time waiting lying casually on the front hood of the police car, making faces at the perp in the back. The police officers didn’t even seem to notice, and Peter wondered if this was a common occurrence.  </p><p>Eventually, they were all done, and Deadpool happily accepted the officers’ offer of a ride back to...wherever he lived.  </p><p>The cashier returned to his shop, and Peter made his way back home. He only remembered as he walked through the front door that he’d left his groceries back at the shop. </p><p>“I <em> do </em> have a good excuse, though” he promised May, and recounted the evening’s events to her suitably shocked and curious reactions as they prepared their version of Thanksgiving dinner — takeaway pizza and nachos. It had always been a treat as he was growing up, and probably for the best considering May’s cooking abilities — or lack thereof.  </p><p>“I can’t believe I’ve not heard of him,” May said, shaking her head and leading the way to the comfy sofa with its plethora of scatter cushions. Her eyes were bright with excitement though, in the way they always got when she sensed some kind of mystery or challenge. “Maybe we can do a bit of research on his history?” </p><p>Peter grinned widely, placing their dinner on the coffee table. “That is an excellent idea.. I’ll see what information I can rustle up.” </p><p>“In the meantime, I need you to answer a Very Important Question for me,” May changed the subject, her tone serious, her expression grim. “Gone in Sixty Seconds, or Con Air?” she asked, pulling out two DVDs from behind her back.  </p><p>Peter snorted. “Easy. I can’t deprive you of the vision that is Cameron Poe.” </p><p>“It’s the hair,” May gave an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t resist it…” </p><p>They watched Nic Cage and stuffed themselves with pizza, and around midnight, Peter finally ushered a sleepy May to her bed and cleared away the leftovers.  </p><p>Remembering May’s words from earlier, he retrieved his somewhat old and battered laptop, and settled himself at the kitchen counter.  </p><p>He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he opened a web search for “Deadpool”, but...there was a surprising amount. <em> Rightio </em>, he thought to himself, cracking his knuckles slightly before he set to work.  </p><p>News articles were scant on details and hailed from publications both US and international alike: whoever Deadpool was, he was well-travelled. There were reports of violence, of murder, war and destruction, though his link to such activities was speculative as opposed to confirmed. They also ended rather abruptly about five years ago, as if he’d vanished from the face of the earth — or at least major news outlets.  </p><p>And yet narrowing his search for local news of Berry Hill alongside Deadpool drew a blank. Did he not live in the town after all? </p><p>Curious and confused, he turned his attention away from official reports, and instead looked for related social media. There he had more luck, if he could even call it that, with a self-proclaimed official Deadpool tumblr (merc-with-a-mouth, whose posts mainly revolved around Steven Universe fanart, links to FFVII slash fic and an episode by episode analysis of the new Canada’s Drag Race) and he lost ten minutes scrolling through it before he forced himself away.  </p><p>Then there was the @friendlyneighbourhoodDP Instagram account — #I do <b>NOT</b> mean Double Penetration I swear! Unless you ask nicely ;) — where he actually found proper photos of the other man in costume, even if they all seemed to be selfies with various cats, dogs, and one rather disgruntled goat.   </p><p>It was difficult to piece together a cohesive picture of the supposed “hero”, and Peter wasn’t sure he was any more informed than when he’d started his search.   </p><p>Staring at the last photo he’d landed upon, the red mask and wide white eyes left a heavy feeling in Peter’s stomach.  </p><p>Peter found himself setting the laptop aside almost without meaning to, leaning down to drag his backpack out from underneath the table. The specially stitched secret compartment in the bottom of the backpack was almost unnoticeable unless you looked closely; he’d sewn it in himself. It had been so long that he actually struggled a bit with the tiny zipper, but then the material parted, and his past stared him in the face.  </p><p>Blue and red and white lenses, thin black lines of webbing, and the black spider in the centre of the chest.  </p><p>Spider-Man.  </p><p>He’d been fifteen when he’d first donned the suit, and he’d thought he could conquer the world — be a hero, save his city. Get the girl.  </p><p>He’d been naive. He’d been stupid.  </p><p>And MJ had died.  </p><p>He wasn’t sure why he still carried the suit after all these years. It was hardly a comfort, associated as it was with the death of his teenage friend and crush, the end of his heroic aspirations. But maybe that was it, maybe he needed the reminder.  </p><p>Not everyone could be saved; not everyone with powers was a hero.  </p><p>He zipped the backpack shut, dropped it to the floor, and took a steadying breath.  </p><p>He hadn’t done a good job of looking after his friends and family as Spider-Man, but he hoped he was managing a bit better as Peter Parker. </p><p>If Deadpool was able to protect his small bit of the world, Peter could respect that.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span class="u"> <strong><br/>Christmas Eve<br/><br/></strong> </span>
</p><p>The screaming of his spider senses wasn’t enough to drown out the thud of the body impacting against the front of his car.  </p><p>Peter slammed his foot on the brakes; the seat belt dug into the soft skin of his throat and belly as he was thrown forward. Ears ringing and heart pumping with adrenaline, it took half a minute before he could make himself move. He had to prise his hands from the steering wheel with effort, his grip so tight that they’d stuck to the plastic. He felt like he was on autopilot as he switched off the engine, freed himself from the seat belt, and reached for the handle to open the door.  </p><p>The fear of what he would see was a sharp slice in his chest as he stumbled forward. His eyes took in the scantest details — the body of a man sprawled awkwardly in the snow of the road, the red of the Santa suit he was wearing a splash of colour against the whilte, the still-spinning back wheel of the upturned bike that he’d obviously been riding, and the awful, unnatural bend of his neck visible in the pool of light from the headlamps. </p><p>Only sheer force of will kept Peter upright, his mind desperately shying away from the memories of another death, another body at his feet, clinging instead to the practicalities.  </p><p>He had to check the body, phone the police, an ambulance, May — but he couldn’t seem to do it, not while his breath wheezed in the back of his throat, while his arms and legs remained so leaden. </p><p>The body twitched.  </p><p>Peter’s breath caught and he blinked, some of the paralysis that had overtaken his mind easing.  </p><p>It couldn’t have… He had to be imagining it.  </p><p>There was a soft groan, and the fingers of the hand closest to him started to gently curl inwards.  </p><p>What the —  </p><p>“...hell,” Peter whispered, but for whatever reason, whatever miracle, the person he’d hit was still alive, but injured, and Peter would just have to set aside his emotional and trauma-triggered breakdown for later.  </p><p>He dropped to his knees beside the man, yanking off one of his winter gloves with his teeth, and reached out to lay a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.  </p><p>“Hey, sir, can you hear me? Just hang in there — I’m going to get help — oh, hey, no, don’t move!”  </p><p>The man seemed to be trying to turn over, and part of Peter really wasn’t sure that was a good idea, because who knew how many broken bones he might have, and there were organs, and ruptures and internal bleeding, and Peter wasn’t a doctor by any stretch of the imagination (only a few years for his degree but it still wouldn’t be <em> that </em> kind of doctor). He seemed determined, however, so Peter could only try to help as best he could, supporting him with hesitant touches. When he was sitting with his back against the bumper, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms resting on his thighs, Peter could finally see his face for the first time — well, sort of.  </p><p>“It’s you!” Peter blurted out, because despite the skew-whiff Santa’s hat and the curly white fake beard, the red and black of Deadpool’s mask was becoming a rather familiar sight. </p><p>Deadpool peered a little to the left of Peter’s shoulder. “Do’n’yu?” he asked, but the words slurred together incomprehensibly, and Deadpool let out a frustrated growl, his fists clenching in his lap. “Know...you?” He tried again.  </p><p>“Yes, kind of. We’ve met once...twice, I guess,” Peter explained. </p><p>Deadpool’s eyes narrowed in a squint (how did white eye slits convey so much?). “Woulda rem’mbered pretty face like yours.” </p><p>Peter flushed at the compliment, then gave his head a small shake, because god, what was he doing? Deadpool <em> had been hit by a car.  </em></p><p>“I’m going to call an ambulance,” he announced, making to stand.  </p><p>Fingers caught at the cuff of his jeans, halting him, and this time Deadpool was definitely focussed on his face. “No point. Five mins — right as rain.” </p><p>That gave him pause. “What?” </p><p>“Super awesome healing power!” Deadpool sing-songed, and lifted his arms to give a weak approximation of jazz hands, undermined somewhat by the way his right wrist flopped around alarmingly.  </p><p>That, that had Peter’s breath whooshing out, and he suddenly felt light-headed. “You heal?” he croaked out, his eyes dancing over Deadpool’s body, trying to find the truth of it, although he’d already seen it, hadn’t he? His neck had been <em> broken...  </em></p><p>“Swear on my Wolverine Fan Club Badge.” Deadpool held up three fingers in salute.  </p><p>It was as if the last remaining strength suddenly left Peter’s limbs, and he collapsed back to the ground beside Deadpool’s outstretched legs, his bare hand rising shakily to press against his lips as relief flooded through him and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.  </p><p>It was an absolute stroke of luck, he knew that, and he didn’t even know what or whom to begin thanking, but — <em> Deadpool was alive. </em>He would heal.  </p><p>“Aww, no, shh, don’t cry…” Deadpool begged, before a tinge of panic entered his voice, and he quickly backpedalled, “I mean, no judgement, either way! #MenHaveFeelingsToo and all that. And you should see me watching Hachi: A Dog’s Tale. Waterworks like Aquaman jerkin’ it in a deep sea trench and just as pretty as his shrivelled scaly ball-sac.” </p><p>The undignified snort escaped him before Peter could hold it back, and he flushed in embarrassment — this wasn’t a laughing matter, he’d just run over a man, and okay, so he had healing powers, it didn’t mean he wasn’t <em> hurt </em>, he shouldn’t be using his energy to try and make Peter feel better.  </p><p>But clearly Deadpool hadn’t got that memo. “That’s more like it!” He praised.  </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Peter said remorsefully. “I could have killed you.” </p><p>“Naaaah… I don’t die so easy,” Deadpool dismissed easily. It shouldn’t have been so reassuring, but it was. “You said we’d met — where?” He cocked his head to the side.  </p><p>“You, uh, you were trick-or-treating down my road and you stopped at my house… and the other week there was that robbery at B-Stop…” Peter explained.  </p><p>“Nooo, that was you?!” Deadpool sounded far too excited by that prospect, letting out a soft whistle as he leaned closer. “Baby, with those eyes and that ass, there are far better ways of making money than robbing a store — ” </p><p>“What — no — <em> no </em> !” Appalled, Peter was quick to put a stop to that conversation. “I wasn’t there <em> robbing </em> — I was shopping!” </p><p>Deadpool hadn’t leaned back, still peering intently as if trying to find the traces of a broken nose, so Peter quickly carried on. “The cashier, he said your name is Deadpool?” </p><p>“The one and only!” He paused. “I hope.” </p><p>“I’m Peter.” He reached out a hand to shake, as was only polite; Deadpool’s fingers gave a nauseating crunch sound as he slapped his leather-gloved hand into Peter’s palm, and Peter held back an instinctive wince. </p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter.” He sounded genuine at least. “You have a wonderful snot-laugh.”  </p><p>Not a compliment Peter had ever heard before, but he found his lips twitching. “I’m very impressed by the way you, you know, don’t die.” </p><p>Deadpool wiggled his leather brow. “I got a few more tricks up my sleeve, you know.”  </p><p>His fingers ran across Peter’s wrist, and Peter quickly snatched his hand back, hurriedly asking, “Can you stand yet?” </p><p>Deadpool pouted, but patted at his legs and chest. “Only one way to know.” </p><p>Peter used his shoulder to brace under Deadpool’s armpit, and with the car as further support, Deadpool managed to slide himself up to his feet. He gave his limbs a few tentative shakes, and bounced lightly on his feet. Everything remained intact, thank god, and Peter could only feel relief.  </p><p>“Good as a second-hand jigsaw with a few missing pieces!” Deadpool announced brightly.  </p><p>“That...makes no sense.” </p><p>Deadpool pointed a large finger his way. “How do you know it’s not <em> you </em> who makes no sense?” </p><p>Helplessly, Peter gaped as he struggled to find an answer to such...nonsense.  </p><p>“Huh? Got you there.” Deadpool wagged his finger and turned around to face the other side of the car. “Now, let’s see how Princess Peach is — Oh.”  </p><p>He let out a sound of disappointment, and Peter moved to stand beside him, now able to see the details of the bicycle that he’d missed before: it wasn’t an adult’s bike, that was for sure, not at that size, and not with the pink and silver and rainbow theme, the glittery streamers hanging from the ends of the handlebars, the small basket on the front. Its front wheel was visibly bent out of shape, and Deadpool would certainly not be riding it anywhere soon.  </p><p>“I’m… really sorry about the bike. I’ll pay for repairs, of course,” Peter promised, guilt tugging at him. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?” </p><p>Deadpool scratched at his head. “I don’t really want to put you out…” </p><p>“I insist,” Peter pressed.  </p><p>“Weeeeell… I was on my way to visit the Golden Oldies...” </p><p>It took Peter a second, and then he frowned. “You mean Berry Hill Care Home?” </p><p>Deadpool made some finger guns. “Ca-ching! Or is it Ba-Bing?”  </p><p>“Why are you going there?” Peter asked, then realised how rude his question might appear, an accusation rather than his curiosity. “I didn’t mean — ” he tried to rephrase, but Deadpool cut him off with a dismissive wave.  </p><p>“Pfft. Suspicions are healthy for the soul and mind, and sometimes the government, and it’s not like you’re asking for my browser history — ” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You’re not asking for my browser history are you, cos I’m not sure you’re ready for that — ” </p><p>“No! God, no,” Peter hastened to deny. “Definitely not.” </p><p>“Hmm.” Deadpool appeared unconvinced, though he was the one who’d raised it in the first place, which, honestly, Peter didn’t even want to get into, so he quickly changed the topic back to his original question.  </p><p>“So you’re going to the care home?” he prompted. “I’m, uh, actually going there too.” </p><p>Deadpool let out a high pitched squeal. “OMG it’s fate! Star-crossed lovers meeting on a quiet winter’s night, ready to snuggle up and begin their journey — ” </p><p>“You weren’t wearing high-viz, and I ran you over,” Peter corrected, although with the earlier stress and adrenaline fading fast from his system, and Deadpool’s strange yet indomitable cheer, he was finding his own humour in the situation. “This is why Santa puts Rudolph in front.” </p><p>Deadpool’s gasp was so exaggerated it was a wonder he didn’t choke on air. “You made a funny!”  </p><p>Peter tried to hide a smile. “I’m known to joke occasionally…now, do you want a lift or not?” </p><p>“Shotgun!” Deadpool called, and spun on his heels to race towards the passenger side door, slamming into it none too gently.  </p><p>Peter rolled his eyes, and dutifully picked up the sorry-looking bike which Deadpool seemed to have forgotten in his haste to get to the car. No good in leaving it here where it could cause another accident, and Peter would need to find someone to fix it, even though it was unlikely to happen until after the holidays.  </p><p>“I don’t know what you’re calling shotgun for,” he pointed out to the other man, who was hunched over the passenger door as if standing guard. “There’s only you and me here, and <em> I’m </em>driving.” </p><p>Deadpool eyed him warily. “Look, not trying to burst your bubble-butt — cos it’s a lovely butt, really, and I’m all about the consent, so no bursting without prior agreement — ” </p><p>“<em> Deadpool, </em>” Peter said warningly.  </p><p>“ — but you’ve already run over one person today, so if you’re gonna pick up any more automobile victims, I wanna make sure they’ll be sitting in the back.” </p><p>Peter opened his mouth to protest, then promptly thought better of it. Their interactions had been brief before now, but Peter was pretty sure that whatever thought process Deadpool lived by, Peter wasn’t likely to persuade him differently no matter what he said. Shaking his head slightly at the other man’s antics, he made quick work of stashing the small bike in the trunk of the car, and came to the driver’s side.  </p><p>Deadpool waited until he opened the door and took a seat to do the same, like some bizarre form of chivalry. While Peter did a quick check of the side mirrors and engine displays, Deadpool bounced lightly in place, and prodded everything within reach, which fortunately for Peter, wasn’t anything more interesting than a few candy bar wrappers he hadn’t had time to dispose of.  </p><p>“Seat belt,” he reminded his passenger as he clicked his own into place.  </p><p>“Nah, I’m cool,” Deadpool replied absently, distracted by making faces in the tiny mirror in his sun visor.  </p><p>Peter twisted round, leveling Deadpool with a stern glare. “Seat. Belt,” he enunciated. “Or you can get out and walk.” </p><p>In a tone that could only be described as meek, Deadpool mumbled “yessir” and fastened his seat belt.  </p><p>Mollified, Peter started the engine and slowly pulled back out into the road.  </p><p>For all the ease of conversation and banter from before, the ten minute drive to the Care Home was somewhat awkward. Peter was concentrating on driving and couldn’t think of a conversation topic that was both safe and appropriate — he had questions, sure, about Deadpool’s powers, the man himself — but he didn’t know if now was the time or the place for them… Deadpool didn’t seem exactly the stablest in mental states, and Peter didn’t really want to take bets as to his chances if Deadpool were to suddenly attack in the confines of the car.  </p><p>Then again, they were on their way to a care home, with elderly residents, and Peter wasn’t sure what that said about his judgement.  </p><p>Even mostly hidden by the cheap Santa suit, Deadpool was quite intimidating with the red and black leather and military style boots and gloves, which also wasn’t enough to disguise the sheer <em> size </em> of him, taking up the whole passenger seat with his broad shoulders and bulk. Peter had seen him take out a man with a single kick, and felt the tingle of <em> danger </em>, and his senses never lied.  </p><p>Except they weren’t warning him now, and despite his appearance, Deadpool was contentedly fiddling with the radio and humming along to the Christmas tunes he found, tapping off-beat against the dashboard and watching the scenery pass through the window, occasionally swatting the pom-pom of his hat when it fell over his eyes.  </p><p>It was...contradictory, but Peter was starting to get the idea that “contradictory” and “Deadpool” were somewhat synonymous. </p><p>The sign for Berry Hill Care Home interrupted his thoughts, and Peter navigated the curving driveway of the residential complex, pulling into one of the free spaces in the small parking lot. He had visited once before with May when they had first moved to Berry Hill, and was passingly familiar with the squat two level brick buildings which comprised the home. The grassy front lawn and flowerbeds from before were now covered by snow, but someone had strung coloured lights in many of the windows, and it appeared cheerful and inviting.  </p><p>Deadpool, too, seemed to have previous acquaintance with the place: once out of the car, he waited for Peter to join him before cheerfully announcing “This way!” and striding off — in the opposite direction of the front entrance.  </p><p>“Where are you going?” Peter called after him. “The reception is this way!” </p><p>“We’ll use the back door!” Deadpool replied, motioning Peter to follow. </p><p>He did so with reluctance, trailing the other man around the side of the building to the back; he did so mostly to keep an eye on Deadpool, feeling responsible for bringing him here and therefore responsible for any mischief he wrought.  </p><p>He’d been right to worry.  </p><p>He caught up with him in time to see Deadpool clumsily trampling through a hedge with a grappling hook in his hand (where had he even got it from??), eyeing up the glass roof of the conservatory and the window directly above it.  </p><p>“Deadpool! Don’t you dare!” he called out in shock, visualising shattering glass and screaming grannies, and another broken neck…  </p><p>He was silently calculating the distance between them and whether a flying tackle would make it in time to stop <em> the absolute lunatic that was Deadpool </em>when the lights in the conservatory abruptly switched on and the shape of a person appeared in the glass doorway.  </p><p>Peter froze in mixed relief and dismay, like a school child caught breaking rules, except he’d tagged along in good faith and had been involved against his will.  </p><p>“Shit,” Deadpool muttered, his shoulders slumping.  </p><p>The door opened, and a low, accented voice rumbled, “Who is making mess outside?” </p><p>If Peter thought Deadpool was large, then the man stepping out of the conservatory made him feel positively child-sized. He towered above them both at nearly seven feet, a colossus of a man with the muscles to match and a thunderous expression on his square-jawed face.  </p><p>“I can explain!” Peter hurried to get out, because right now things looked bad, and the last thing he needed was a fight at May’s workplace, or being arrested, or any of the other scenarios his panicked brain was coming up with. “I’m Peter! My aunt works here — ” </p><p>The man leaned forward slightly to get a better look at Peter, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Peter? Madam Boss’s little Peter?” </p><p>“Er...yes?” He said hesitantly, unsure if the man knowing his name was a good thing.  </p><p>All of a sudden the large man’s expression shifted; a wide grin spread across his face and his eyes lit up. “Welcome Peter! Why are you out in cold? Come in warmth!”  </p><p>Peter hesitated, glancing to Deadpool, who had remained suspiciously quiet and unobtrusive this whole time.  </p><p>The man’s eyes followed his, and he let out a gusty sigh on seeing the other apparent intruder. “Wade, is that you?”  </p><p>“No,” Deadpool (Wade?) answered in a small voice.  </p><p>“You come too.”  </p><p>It was an order more than invitation, and Peter hastened to obey, stepping into the conservatory as the other man moved aside to let them in. In proper lighting, Peter suddenly recognised the dark grey trousers and pale lavender polo with its embroidered logo that the other man was wearing — the uniform of the Care Home, which May frequently wore too. Beneath the logo was a name badge with large letters identifying the man as “Piotr”. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Peter said remorsefully. “I was coming to pick May up, but, ah, Deadpool came with me, and…well, he...” </p><p>He trailed off, not really knowing what exactly to say about Deadpool’s actions.  </p><p>“Ach, you do not need explain <em> this one </em>,” Piotr waved away his apology, and though his words were harsh, he didn’t seem angry at Deadpool’s presence. Instead, hands on his hips, he regarded Deadpool with an expression of acute disappointment. “Wade. We have many conversations and you continue to ignore. What have you to say?” </p><p>“It’s tradition for Santa to come down the chimney?” Deadpool offered, finally finding his voice.  </p><p>The healthcare assistant raised his eyes to the glass ceiling and muttered some words in Russian under his breath. “<em> Santa </em> come down chimney. <em> Wade </em> use <em> door </em>.” </p><p>Deadpool scuffed his foot against the tiled floor. “I’ll promise to use the door next time.” </p><p>“Excellent!” Piotr clapped his large hands together, returning to a cheerful mood. “Now I shall take you to Madam Boss!” </p><p>As Peter moved to follow Piotr, Deadpool crowded close to his back.  </p><p>“Psst! I need a favour. Keep these on you. I’ll get them later.” </p><p>Peter glanced down at the item that Deadpool had slipped him: a zip-lock bag with a few sugar-dusted cookies. “What? Cookies?” </p><p>“I’ll explain later!” Deadpool flapped his hands and urged Peter to put the bag into his coat pocket. He gave Piotr a thumbs up when he glanced over his shoulder to see what was keeping them. “Coming!” </p><p>Piotr led them out of the conservatory and through a spacious dining area filled with small round tables, down a corridor into the reception area — where Peter had initially wanted to enter.  </p><p>There was a wooden counter decorated with colourful paper chains and fresh flowers; behind it sat a petite girl wearing the same healthcare assistant uniform, though she had a long-sleeved black t-shirt underneath. She seemed about the same age as Peter or maybe a little younger, with blonde hair cropped short on one side and long on the other. The eyebrow that she raised on spotting them had a silver stud.  </p><p>Peter immediately felt ten times more socially awkward when faced with someone who screamed ‘cool’, and as he taught university classes, he was intimately familiar with the feeling.  </p><p>“Why’d you let<em> him </em> in?” The question was clearly directed at Piotr, but her nod was to Deadpool.  </p><p>“It is better to see him, than not see him,” Piotr replied sagely, while Deadpool let out a noise of protest.  </p><p>“I thought we bonded last time!” he wailed. “Oh, I was such a fool…I made us friendship bracelets and everything...” </p><p>The girl rolled her eyes at his dramatics, now turning her less than enthusiastic attention towards Peter. “And that one?” </p><p>“I’m Peter,” he introduced himself, trying to make a good impression on at least <em> one </em>person today, although something told him he was already at a disadvantage having arrived in Deadpool’s company. “I’m May’s nephew.” </p><p>“Hm.” The girl’s reaction was neutral, though she did at least follow up with, “I’m Gwen.” </p><p>“Gwen, please make guests comfortable,” Piotr spoke suddenly.  </p><p>The instruction made sense as Gwen brought out two pairs of slippers, the kind hotels gave to guests, and instructed both Peter and Deadpool to remove their shoes. </p><p>“Health and safety, and keeps the carpets clean,” she explained as she accepted Peter’s slightly worn winter boots and put them into a shoe cubbyhole behind the counter which made Peter think of bowling alleys.  </p><p>Deadpool was making a show of himself on the floor trying to unbuckle his boots, but he eventually managed to remove them. He slipped his feet in the slippers and wiggled his toes.  </p><p>“Aw… I wanted mine in red,” he pouted, which turned into a whine at the sight of the ugly plastic tray which Gwen brought out next. “Do I have to?” </p><p>“You know rules, Wade.” Piotr was unsympathetic, his arms crossed over his chest and his tone stern.  </p><p>Peter’s initial bemusement was quickly replaced by alarm as the purpose of the tray became clear: the first item Deadpool dropped into it was a switch-blade, the second an actual handgun, followed quickly by several shuriken, a coil of barbed wire, the previously seen grappling hook, some mini alcohol bottles, and lastly, a pack of gum.  </p><p>When Peter had first seen Deadpool’s weapons, he had thought them fakes as part of a costume. Now, he was beginning to see that — “They’re real?” he blurted out, eyes wide. “You carry those things around with you?” </p><p>“Well, yes.” Deadpool scratched the side of his mask, dislodging the white beard he still wore. “Although this is kind of light for me…” </p><p>“And those batons?” Peter asked.  </p><p>“Katanas,” Deadpool corrected, clearly affronted, “I’m not Matt Murdock!” </p><p>“Who?” Gwen muttered.  </p><p>“Wade has bad habit of weapons,” Piotr spoke in a low voice, as if admitting a shameful secret. “But we work on it! Wade only use weapons for good.”  </p><p>The situation was surreal, but then again, Peter’s whole evening had been surreal, and he found himself just accepting that a masked self-proclaimed hero frequently walked around with a mini-armoury on his person, and other people knew but were pretty okay with it — except when he was visiting a care home, it seemed.  </p><p><em> Did May know about this? </em> he had to wonder. If she did, she certainly hadn’t passed it on to Peter, and they’d be having words about that. </p><p>“Is that everything?” Piotr asked, peering down from his great height. </p><p>“Yep!” Deadpool nodded vigorously.  </p><p>“You do not bring present for Miss Althea? Hmm?” There was something about Piotr’s voice which was both friendly, yet tolerated no mistruths. “No other hidden thing at all?” </p><p>“Nope!” Deadpool denied, eyes wide and innocent.  </p><p>Peter, unfortunately, wasn’t as immune to Piotr’s interrogation. “I mean...just the cookies,” he confessed. </p><p>All eyes turned to him.  </p><p>Gwen let out a hoot of laughter and Peter just heard her whisper, “Oh my god, a mule!” which was overshadowed by Deadpool’s dejected groan. “Peeeeterrr….” </p><p>Piotr leveled a long look at Deadpool. “<em> Cookies </em>. I see. Maybe I put them in tray, yes?”  </p><p>“I, sure, yes,” Peter stammered as he brought out the controversial baked goods, handing them over to Piotr, who deposited them in the tray alongside the weapons.  </p><p>“Good! <em> Now </em> I take you to see Miss Althea!” Piotr gave Deadpool a friendly pat on the shoulder; Peter could see Deadpool’s knees buckle slightly.  </p><p>With a despondent glance over his shoulder at the tray and its contents, Deadpool allowed Piotr to steer him away from the reception towards a different corridor.  </p><p>Peter gave Gwen a hesitant smile, trying desperately to turn the conversation back to something normal. “So, uh, Miss Althea doesn’t like cookies?” </p><p>Gwen snorted. “Oh, she’d like these ones, all right.” Her tone was full of implication, which left Peter feeling as if he were missing something. </p><p>“She’s...not allowed them...because of diabetes?” he hazarded a guess.  </p><p>The blonde took pity on him. “Let’s just say the sugar-dusting isn’t <em> sugar-dusting </em>.” She mimed taking a snort.  </p><p>“Co-<em> cocaine </em>?” Peter hissed furiously, horrified. The “mule” comment made sense all of a sudden. “He was using me to bring her drugs? And he does this a lot?”  </p><p>Gwen shrugged. “He <em> tries </em>to. Only at Christmas and birthdays, though. And Piotr’s good at spotting it.” </p><p>That did not make it any better, and Peter could only stare at her. “And you still let him visit her?” </p><p>Gwen took her time in answering, picking up the tray and storing it away somewhere out of sight. “Well...Wade’s not your typical kind of guy. I’m not going to say he’s harmless, but, he knows where the line is. Besides, he’s the only visitor she gets. And he pays all her bills and expenses.” She hopped down from her stool. “I’ll go tell your aunt you’re here.” </p><p>Peter stood awkwardly as she walked away, feeling suddenly guilty and in the wrong. Three encounters wasn’t enough to know someone, and it wasn’t enough to make judgement. Even if he <em> had </em> been used as an unwitting accomplice in drug-smuggling.  </p><p>He was inspecting the crochet nativity scene on the other side of the reception when May clattered down the stairs, her hair in a messy pony-tail and a slight frown between her eyebrows. “Oh, Petey, honey, I’m sorry to make you wait so long, and I was meant to call you, but — ”  </p><p>She ended abruptly, and Peter was alarmed to see the distress on her face.  </p><p>“May, what’s wrong?” he stepped up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close.  </p><p>“Marjorie called in sick last minute, I can’t find anyone to cover, and it’s Christmas Eve, but I might have to stay to cover the shift, but you’ll be all alone — ” She let out a sniffle and squeezed his back.  </p><p>Honestly, after the evening he’d had, that it was something as simple as May having to work late was a relief, although he could understand why she was upset too. It would be the first Christmas without Ben, and they’d been making tentative plans for the evening, nothing extravagant, but something comforting and homely. May had always had a hard time disappointing others and not meeting expectations — although often they were her own.  </p><p>Peter could certainly take a change in plans in his stride.  </p><p>He leaned back so he could meet her eyes. “Why don’t I stay here with you, then?” he offered.  </p><p>“It’s not an exciting evening... we’re having party games with the residents, and we’ll sing some carols…” she hurried to downplay the evening’s plans, but couldn’t hide the hope in her eyes.  </p><p>“It sounds great,” Peter said honestly.  </p><p>May stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to Peter’s cheek, then another in quick succession, before brushing a hand over his hair. “You’re a good boy, Peter,” she said affectionately. “Thank you.” </p><p>It wasn’t the evening he had planned (then again, had any of it been?) but Peter found himself rather curious and content as he joined Gwen and Piotr in the kitchen. On learning that he would be spending the evening with them, and willing to give them a hand, Piotr gave him a crushing hug that almost lifted him off his feet. Gwen simply handed him a platter of appetisers and told him to keep an eye on Mr Lee.  </p><p>“Make sure he doesn’t steal all the pigs in blankets,” she warned.  </p><p>While some residents went home to family for the holidays, not everyone had relatives nearby, or at all, and so the carers tried to make their own festivities, May explained to Peter as she led him down the corridor to the sitting room.  </p><p>It was a cosy room with sand coloured wallpaper and a thick beige patterned carpet, comfortable sofas and squishy armchairs in various shades and patterns of purple dotted around the room next to oak wood side tables. There was an electric fireplace offering gentle light and heat, and the mantle above it was stacked with cards and garlands of fake holly.  </p><p>There were about ten residents still remaining for Christmas, and Peter greeted them warmly as he was introduced; May handed out plastic plates and Peter offered them mini-pies and finger foods from his tray. By the time he’d almost completed his first circuit, everyone seemed delighted to have another ‘handsome young man’ joining them that evening. </p><p>At the other end of the room on a two-seater sofa nearest the window sat Deadpool, next to him a woman with thick black glasses and a white cane resting beside her. They were sharing a knitted blanket across their laps, their slippered feet poking out of the bottom and resting on footstools. Deadpool had a newspaper in his lap and seemed to be reading aloud from it.  </p><p>It was a rather heart-warming image, despite the silliness of the Santa outfit. </p><p>“Miss Althea?” Peter queried as he stopped in front of them; she was the only female resident he hadn’t met yet.  </p><p>“Only my mother and that Soviet muscleman call me that,” the woman replied in a dry voice. “Call me Al.” </p><p>“Blind Al,” Deadpool helpfully added.  </p><p>There was no way Peter was going to use such an un-PC title, no matter how true it was. “Al,” he repeated firmly. “I’m Peter, May’s nephew. I’ve got some snacks if you want?” </p><p>Al perked up. “Are they cookies?” </p><p>“Uh, no…ham quiches,” Peter informed her with a wince.  </p><p>Al sat back, disappointed. “Pass.” </p><p>“They took the cookies away,” Deadpool sighed sadly. “Next time, Al. Do you think I should try baking it into a cake?” </p><p>A man with a thick grey moustache and tinted glasses leaned over the back of his armchair; he held a plate piled high with bacon-wrapped sausages. “I always thought drones were most effective…” </p><p>Peter beat a hasty retreat before he could be privy to any more criminal or drug related escapades Deadpool might try to draw him into.  </p><p>The evening continued with the party games May had promised: Charades was a popular past time, apparently, although Deadpool’s team was quickly disqualified as he insisted on only doing internet memes, and considering Al got every single one of them right despite her blindness, there was a general consensus of cheating being involved.  </p><p>He spent ten minutes sulking after his suggestions of Twister, Jenga and Cards Against Humanity were overruled as “inappropriate”, but he rallied as soon as Gwen took a seat at the piano, showing off her musical talents to the accompaniment of Deadpool’s less than musical singing abilities.  </p><p>Peter joined in with May and the residents as they sang their way through the popular carols, and listened to Piotr’s rather sweet and gentle Russian rendition of “S Nami Bog” and the somewhat livelier “Dorogoi Dlinnoyu” which had everyone clapping along.  </p><p>As the evening grew late — well, late for a residential care home, which meant eight o’clock — May and Gwen brought round cups of hot cocoa and fruit cake, and excitement dwindled to quiet conversation and reminiscing, which Peter contentedly listened to as he sipped his drink.  </p><p>When he glanced at Deadpool, he saw him slumped on the sofa, snoring softly, his Santa hat perched on the end of one slippered foot. The beard had somehow migrated to the wall clock. </p><p>Not long after, Gwen started ushering the residents to bed, helping those who needed assistance with their night time routines and medications.  </p><p>Peter made himself useful with clearing up the plates and mugs, loading them into the dishwasher and wiping down the kitchen surfaces.  </p><p>He stepped back into the sitting room to see Piotr lifting Deadpool from the sofa, cradling him in his strong arms. Deadpool snuggled closer and let his head rest on Piotr’s shoulder.  </p><p>“Are you putting me to bed like one of your geriatrics?” he mumbled sleepily.  </p><p>“Yes, yes, I tuck you in, give you kiss good night,” Piotr responded, affection clear in his tone. </p><p>“You’re the best,” Deadpool hummed.  </p><p>Peter felt a twinge of...<em> something </em> in his chest, and his “Good night” to Piotr as he passed was a little stilted.  </p><p>It wasn’t like he’d made an agreement with Deadpool to give him a lift home… he’d just...thought he would.  </p><p>Which was silly, really.  </p><p>He didn’t even know where Deadpool lived.  </p><p>(Perhaps he lived with Piotr…) </p><p>He tried not to let his mood sour too much as he waited outside by the car for May to join him.  </p><p>Despite the theatrics and near-death (actual death?), the evening had been… surprisingly comfortable.  </p><p>“All set?” he asked May as she approached, woolly scarf wrapped tight around her neck and carrying several bags of shopping for tomorrow’s lunch.  </p><p>“Yep! Start the car, Petey, it’s chilly as a snowman’s tit out here.” </p><p>With a laugh, Peter complied. The engine was on, and heat was starting to pump out from the vents on the dash when there was the thump of the trunk shutting and May joined him in the passenger seat.  </p><p>She stared ahead for a long moment, a tiny crease between her brows. Then she turned and leveled a quizzical look his way.  </p><p>“Petey, why’s there a little girl’s bike in the trunk?” </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Christmas Day</strong> </span>
</p><p>Peter woke on Christmas Day to the smell of a bacon-buttie. He blinked open his eyes to find a cheeky-faced May at the foot of his bed holding a plate in one hand, and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.  </p><p>He groaned, half in protest at being woken, half in gratitude at the offerings.  </p><p>“Why,” he groused, rubbing at his face to try and wake himself up.  </p><p>“Come on, Dickie Bird. Up and at ‘em.” May laughed as she placed them on his chest of drawers and left the room.  </p><p>Fortified with coffee and food, Peter slipped into yesterday’s clothes and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, where he found all the cupboard doors ajar, the drawers open, and every surface covered with what seemed to be three-quarters of their entire crockery and cutlery supplies. </p><p>May stood before the sink, a mixing bowl in her hands and a streak of flour on one cheek.  </p><p>“I’m going to try to make my own stuffing this year,” she announced, blowing at a flyaway hair that was doing its best to get into her eye.  </p><p>Peter bit his lip.  </p><p>“<em> Yes </em> , I have pizzas on standby,” May assured him with a pointed wave of her wooden spoon, “but <em> no, </em> we won’t need them.” </p><p>Peter decided to take one out of the freezer, just in case.  </p><p>Despite their alternative Thanksgiving, Christmas Day had always followed a more traditional plan. Peter could remember being woken as a child in much the same way, albeit hot cocoa instead of coffee, with his aunt and uncle snuggled in bed on either side of him as he ate his breakfast. They’d then make their way to the kitchen, past the living room and the tree they’d decorated weeks before, where brightly wrapped presents waited for after dinner.  </p><p>Uncle Ben’s prowess in the kitchen had been greater than May’s, so she and Peter would be relegated to eager helpers, peeling and chopping and stealing little samples behind Ben’s turned back — although he always knew, and made great harrumphing and tutting sounds as he rearranged his vegetables or leveled out the missing spoonful of toppings.  </p><p>Peter’s favourite thing would be watching the chosen roast — sometimes turkey, sometimes beef, sometimes a honey-glazed gammon — turn brown and crisp in the oven from his perch on a dining chair while Ben continued to putter around him. May would lay the settings for their tiny table, and then there would be a procession of plates and bowls from the kitchen as they laughingly tried but inevitably failed to stick to a one-way system. </p><p>They’d sit and eat until they were bursting, laugh at the silly jokes from the crackers, May would tease Peter about the paper crown that kept slipping down over his ears, and when they were finished, they would leave the plates and leftovers on the table for later, and gather around the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights, and take turns opening their gifts.  </p><p>The day would end with the three of them cosied up on the sofa under warm blankets, playing a quick game of rock-paper-scissors in order to choose the film they’d watch, and then again during the ad breaks to see who would be sent to fetch the cake and ice cream. </p><p>Their family had been small, but it had been <em> family </em>, of the real kind.  </p><p>There had been no dinner last year, no presents, no tree. Instead there had been Ben lying in a hospital bed, and sleepless nights at his side.  </p><p>This year, it was just the two of them, but they’d made the decision to return to tradition.  </p><p>Well, as much as they could with their limited culinary skills.  </p><p>The chicken was pre-cooked and only needed warming, and the roast potatoes came from a frozen bag; they managed vegetables and some sides well enough, with only a few raw bits. May’s stuffing was a congealed inedible mass at the bottom of the trash.  </p><p>There was a touch of sadness to their conversation, but familiarity brought comfort all the same, despite their loss.  </p><p>Peter’s gift to May had been a pair of earrings he knew she’d been thinking of buying, and she’d got him a new hardback publication of one of his favourite photographer’s prints.  </p><p>Small, but meaningful.  </p><p>Nestled on the couch, May won the rock-paper-scissors both times, and they ate sticky toffee pudding and brandy cream while <em> Rise of the Guardians </em>played on TV (which Peter actually rather enjoyed despite an obligatory roll of his eyes at May’s penchant for animated films).  </p><p>When it was late and May was dozing on the sofa, Peter dimmed the lights in the living room, and made his way to the kitchen to begin the clean-up. Leftovers went into tupperware, and dirty plates were loaded into the dishwasher, and the trays with tougher stains were left soaking in the sink.  </p><p>A bag of trash in hand, Peter slipped his feet into his boots and opened the front door.  </p><p>The sight of a small cardboard box on the doorstep had his brows rising in surprise, and he leaned down to pick it up. A red plastic ribbon was stuck on one corner, a gift tag poking out from beneath it, and he turned it over so he could read it.  </p><p>
  <em> “No special ingredients this time. Pinky promise. xoxoxo”  </em>
</p><p>Inside were a dozen sugar-coated cookies.  <br/><br/></p><hr/><p><em><br/></em> <span class="u"> <strong>New Year's Eve</strong> </span></p><p><em> Tap on the Hill </em>, the town’s one and only bar, was a rather quaint and unassuming white brick building, with high arched windows and black aluminium lanterns on either side of the cherry red double front door.  </p><p>In comparison to the nightlife of Queens with its thumping music, long queues and drunken brawls, it was a pleasant surprise, and Peter found himself relaxing ever so slightly as he passed the group of smokers huddled under the heated porch to make his way inside.  </p><p>When May had dropped the note in his lap that morning with a phone number and “Call me. Gwen” scrawled across it in spiky black biro, Peter’s first thought had been that he was being asked on a date. After a second of feeling flattered, panic had quickly set in, because while he <em> was </em> into both girls and guys, it was rather sudden and he’d never been very good at the whole relationship thing. This had immediately been followed by shame and guilt at his masculine arrogance that a romantic interest was his first assumption for a girl giving him her number, which had opened a whole can of brain worms of what other reason she could want him to get in touch. Had he committed some care home faux pas that May was too ashamed to tell him?  </p><p>After ten minutes of circling, worried thoughts, he had finally (metaphorically) put on his Big Boy Pants and called the number, and now here he was, about to have drinks with Gwen and her friends.  </p><p>He slipped off his gloves as he stood in the doorway, taking a chance to look around. The interior was just as tasteful as the outside: white walls were covered in a myriad of prints, and the floors were a contrasting dark wood; plants hung from the ceiling throughout and adorned the long wooden bar at the far end; a mix of high tables and metal barstools, and low leather sofas and chairs in jewel tones made up the seating. It was nice.  </p><p>It was also quite crowded, but Peter supposed that was to be expected of New Year’s Eve.  </p><p>He focussed his senses until he picked up the familiar cadence of Gwen’s voice somewhere to his left, and made his way over, skirting around the busy tables and clustered groups. He found her sitting at a round table with two other people, and gave an awkward wave of greeting.  </p><p>“You made it!” Gwen offered a welcoming smile, looking relaxed in a white hoodie, black skinny jeans, and turquoise flats.  </p><p>Stroking a hand down the lapels of his dark grey blazer, Peter immediately felt overdressed, and regretted taking May’s advice on what to wear tonight.  </p><p>“Sorry I’m late,” he apologised automatically, even though Gwen hadn’t specified an exact time to meet. He glanced curiously towards her companions.  </p><p>Gwen waved his apology away, and made the introductions. “This is Miles, my boyfriend,” she indicated the young man with curly black hair and a neatly trimmed goatee whose arm was resting on the back of her chair. His red high-tops matched the open shirt he wore, and the red graffiti-style spider on the front of his black t-shirt.  </p><p>“Hullo,” he nodded at Peter.  </p><p>“That’s Ellie,” Gwen continued, pointing to the girl on the opposite side of the table.  </p><p>Slouched back in her chair, with dark eyeshadow and black lipstick, hair slicked up with gel and wearing chunky boots and a leather jacket, she looked both serious and mildly bored. “Call me Neg,” she corrected.  </p><p>“Nice to meet you. I’m Peter.” </p><p>“Pull up a chair, man,” Miles invited.  </p><p>Peter did so, settling into the empty seat beside Gwen. He shrugged off his blazer, revealing a plain long-sleeved blue shirt beneath, and hung it on the back of his chair. He glanced at the two leftover empty spaces on Neg’s other side. “You expecting others to join us?” </p><p>“Yeah, they’re just getting drinks,” Gwen informed him.  </p><p>Peter nodded, then asked, “So how do you all know each other?” </p><p>He listened as the three of them explained their connections to each other and Berry Hill. Miles had grown up in New York, before his family moved here to get away from the city. His dad was a police officer on the local force, and his mom worked in the Care Home with May. He and Gwen had met in New York, where he studied Math and Engineering at NYU, and she was enrolled at Empire State on a Criminology and Forensics course.  </p><p>“I come back during the holidays to help out mom,” he explained, his affection for his family clear to see. “And I dragged this one into it too.” He nudged Gwen with his elbow, and she gave a soft snort and rolled her eyes.  </p><p>“I don’t have any other family,” Gwen confessed. “And I love working at The Bitch.” </p><p>Peter did a double take, lips twitching in shocked amusement. “The...what?” </p><p>“Berry Hill Care Home… aka. BHCH...aka. The Bitch,” she responded with a straight face, though her blue eyes were bright with glee.  </p><p>“Just don’t let May hear you call it that…” Miles cautioned, then winced. “Or my mom. Or.. anyone really.” </p><p>Peter couldn’t ever imagine calling it that in his own mind, let alone to anyone’s face. He glanced at Neg.  </p><p>“No, I don’t work there,” Neg answered his unspoken question. “I tour in a band… Gwen plays drums when she can.” </p><p>“Oh, wow,” Peter commented, impressed in the way someone so wholly unmusical could be. “What’s your band called?” </p><p>“We’re Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and we’re here to rock!” a cheerful voice cried out from behind him, and a small Asian girl with bright pink hair and a black and white kimono style top all but threw herself into Neg’s lap, making “rock on” signs with her hands. For a moment Peter thought they would topple over, but Neg steadied her chair, as if experienced with such exuberant entrances.  </p><p>The new arrival pressed an enthusiastic smooch against Neg’s cheek before noticing Peter.  “Hiiii, I’m Yukio!” she chirped as she bounced down into the chair beside Neg.  </p><p>“Hi,” Peter managed, but was interrupted by the arrival of the last of their little group.  </p><p>“Awww, I wanted a kiss,” Deadpool whined magnificently. Leather covered arms entered Peter’s field of vision, a multitude of cream-topped shot glasses wobbling precariously on the metal tray as it was placed in the middle of the table.  </p><p>“Dream on, Dweebpool,” Neg deadpanned.  </p><p>“Oh, I <em> will </em>,” Deadpool’s voice dropped a few octaves suggestively.  </p><p>“Ew.” Neg scrunched her nose, but Deadpool’s attention had already moved on.  </p><p>“Petey-pie!” he greeted, and plopped down into the seat beside him. Peter was reminded again of his size as their thighs brushed together. “It’s been forever!” </p><p>“It’s been six days,” Peter pointed out, choosing not to comment on the new nick-name he’d been given. He hadn’t been expecting to bump into Deadpool today, but he also hadn’t <em> not </em> been expecting it; the local hero seemed to have made a habit of appearing whenever Peter visited town, and it was a public bar on a public holiday.  </p><p>“Exactly! I missed you!”  </p><p>“DP, what the fuck are these?” Gwen prodded warily at one of the shot glasses, drawing their attention. “I seem to recall asking for a rum and coke…” </p><p>“Pfft! No fun. I got Blow Jobs instead!” Deadpool answered. “Creamy, delicious, black, and bitter. Like Miles!” </p><p>Miles, who had picked up one of the shot glasses and taken a tentative sip, started to cough violently. Gwen came to his rescue, thumping him on the back.  </p><p>“Wade, stop being gross,” Neg threw a scrunched up napkin which hit Deadpool square in the face.  </p><p>“No, you’re gross!” he countered childishly. “And I even got them to make special Slippery Nipples so the lesbians wouldn’t feel left out.” </p><p>“Ooh!” Yukio leaned forward and reached for one of the cherry-topped glasses. “Thank you Wade!” </p><p>“You’re welcome, Yuki-Ono.” </p><p>Peter felt a curl of warmth, helpless against Deadpool’s constant exuberance. It was like having a hyperactive child or puppy...except one that also swore, made lewd jokes, and carried round an armoury on their person. The katanas were back in their harness tonight, and there was a distinctive gun-shaped bulge in one of the pockets strapped to his thigh that Peter tried not to think too much about.  </p><p>“Well, I’m not going to turn down a free Blow Job,” Peter announced, keen to smoothe over any ruffled feathers, even though it seemed the snark and the insults were in good fun and not taken to heart. He helped himself to the closest shot; it smelled of coffee and cream, and went down smoothly, the faint burn of alcohol causing him to shiver.  </p><p>Deadpool pretended to wipe away a tear. “That’s my baby boy.” </p><p>The others followed Peter’s example, and the shots were quickly polished off as conversation continued, though Peter noticed that Deadpool didn’t drink himself. He, Miles and Gwen became embroiled in a three-way debate about the pros and cons of their chosen universities and thesis topics, while across from them, Deadpool dared Yukio to try and lick whipped cream off the tip of her nose.  </p><p>Despite Peter’s limited acquaintance with Gwen and Deadpool and only just meeting the rest, he felt included in a way he’d never quite managed with anyone but MJ. It was...fun, and sometimes silly, and Peter found the last of his lingering social tension disappearing.  </p><p>He happily accompanied Yukio to get the next round, and had a brief deja vu moment of panic as she slipped underneath the hatch at the bar and began picking up glasses and bottles. </p><p>“I work here,” she reassured him, giggling at his relieved expression. “Though I’m not on shift tonight.” </p><p>That said, she kindly offered to help out the young man bartending tonight after he suddenly got overwhelmed with orders, and her movements were graceful and practiced as she shook up a cocktail in one hand and lined up glasses with another.  </p><p>“I’ll be with you in a minute!” she told him, and so Peter carried their tray of drinks — their actual orders this time, not Deadpool’s choice of shots — back to their table, just in time to hear Miles say — </p><p>“-look, Spider-Man’s coming back!” </p><p>He was grateful for superpowers when he almost dropped the tray in shock, just managing to keep hold of it with a quick twist of his wrist.  </p><p>“Look, Miles, I know you’re a Spider-Man fanboy, but he’s been gone for years!” Neg argued. </p><p>It took effort to keep his expression blank as Peter carefully handed out the drinks.  </p><p>“So, uh, what are we discussing now?” he tried to keep his voice level as he retook his seat. </p><p>“Miles’ superhero obsession,” Gwen admitted, though her voice was fond.  </p><p>“It’s not an ob -,” Miles cut off his protest abruptly, turning to Peter. “Hey, Peter, you’re from Queens originally — did you ever come across Spider-Man?” </p><p>Peter tried to keep his posture casual, despite the sudden reappearance of his nerves. He’d never been a great liar. “What, um. No. Did, ah, did you?”  </p><p>“Yeah, he saved my parents’ lives.” It was said with pride and gratitude.  </p><p>Peter...hadn’t been expecting that. It was almost morbid curiosity that made him ask, “What happened?”  </p><p>Miles didn’t seem upset at retelling the story. “There was a mutant attack, and they got caught in the crossfire. He got them out.” </p><p>There had been a few such attacks in New York during his life there, but the specific details blurred together. Still.  </p><p>“I’m glad,” he told Miles truthfully. He hadn’t worn the Spider-suit for long, and his memories of his attempts at heroism were tainted by MJ’s death. It was sometimes difficult to remember that there <em> had </em> been those he had helped.  </p><p>“No fair,” Deadpool unexpectedly slumped against Peter’s side, dropping his masked chin onto Peter’s shoulder. He was heavy, but Peter was strong enough to bear his weight. “What I wouldn’t give to be saved by Spidey-Babe. I mean, that flexibility. That spandex. That <em> ass. </em>” </p><p>Peter shifted said “ass” awkwardly in his seat, heat crawling up his neck; he was somewhat uncomfortable at the awareness that he’d been such a sex symbol without even knowing.  </p><p>He rallied whatever social skills he had and blurted out in a slightly too-loud voice, “So, Deadpool, where’s Piotr tonight? He working?” </p><p>Deadpool craned his neck up and looked at him a bit oddly. “Maybe? I didn’t really ask.” </p><p>It was not the answer Peter had thought he’d get.  </p><p>“Nah, he went to visit Kitty. God, I wish they’d just make a decision, instead of this on-again off-again yo-yo thing that’s been going on for the last what, five years?” Gwen groaned out, and slurped at the bright pink straw of her cocktail.  </p><p>“Wait, what?” Peter asked stupidly, looking from Gwen to Deadpool. “I thought he — you — ” he trailed off as Gwen let out a howl of laughter, and Neg’s grin resembled a shark’s.  </p><p>“He wishes!” Gwen got out, still laughing.  </p><p>Deadpool gave a dramatic sigh, which despite the mask, gusted warmly against Peter’s cheek. “Alas, despite my charms and wooing, Piotr still hasn’t succumbed to the D <em> or </em> the P — Ow!”  </p><p>He reached down to rub against his shin. “What have you got in those — bricks?” he narrowed his eyes at Neg.  </p><p>“Just steel caps,” she returned, a picture of serenity.  </p><p>Peter stayed quiet, unsure how to take this turn of events. He’d been put out by the thought of Deadpool flirting with him and crushing on him (well, Spider-Man) while in a relationship. But if he wasn’t… </p><p>“So you’re not — ” </p><p>At that point, Yukio returned. “Connie wants to know if we want to play tonight! Please say yes!” </p><p>Gwen’s face lit up, and even Neg seemed visibly eager. “I’m not tooooo drunk,” the blonde said, and Miles added, “You’ve got the gear in the van haven’t you?” </p><p>There was a mass exodus of their little table as they headed outside to Neg’s van — a monstrous thing which seemed half held together by duct-tape and luck — and began retrieving the instruments and speakers they’d need for their unexpected set.  </p><p>Peter had known Deadpool was built — the leather didn’t exactly do much to hide his muscles after all — but he took on the role of roadie rather well under Miles’ apparently experienced instruction.  </p><p>In the name of expediency, Peter wasn’t quite so careful about hiding his own strength, and noticed too late Deadpool’s contemplative gaze as he hefted two speaker-like things down from the van.  </p><p>“Looks like someone’s been eating his wheaties.” Deadpool waggled his eyebrows ridiculously.  </p><p>Peter flushed, and quickly changed the topic. “I, uh, got your bike fixed, by the way.” </p><p>There was a pause where Deadpool simply stared at him. “...my bike?” </p><p>Peter pursed his lips. “Yeah...you know, the one you were riding when I ran you over.” </p><p>“You ran over Wade?” Yukio piped up, wearing a bunch of cables around her neck like a fashion statement piece. </p><p>“It was dark,” Peter defended himself, “and he didn’t have any lights!” </p><p>“Oh, I’m not blaming you! Wade can be terribly careless…” Yukio’s lips turned down as she glanced towards Deadpool, patting him on the arm.  </p><p>“We keep a tally of the accidental deaths,” Miles tried to reassure him. “You get used to it.” </p><p>“Um…” Somehow it wasn’t as comforting to Peter as they probably thought it would be.  </p><p>“Only a few more to go! Move it people!” Miles called out.  </p><p>With Negasonic Teenage Warhead set up on the raised platform in the corner of the bar and focussed on tuning their instruments and discussing their set, Peter used the chance to take a breather outside on one of the benches. It was chilly enough to make him shiver, though his metabolism kept him warmer than most.  </p><p>His senses gave a soft shimmer a second before his blazer fell across his shoulders, and he glanced up to see Deadpool straddle the bench beside him, a cup of steaming drink in his hand.  </p><p>“Your nose is too cute to get frost-bite,” he tutted, and offered the drink.  </p><p>“Oh,” Peter swallowed, hesitating to take it. “Don’t you want it?” </p><p>“I know it’s tradition to puke on New Year’s, and I promise I’ll hold your hair back like a good BFF, but let’s put that off for as long as we can, why don’t we?” Deadpool nudged the drink towards him again.  </p><p>Peter wasn’t sure he understood Deadpool’s meaning, but he accepted the drink all the same, not wanting to be rude. He took a sip, and huffed out a laugh. “Baileys hot chocolate?” </p><p>“You seem like you’d have a sweet tooth,” Deadpool replied, which reminded Peter.  </p><p>“Thank you for your present, by the way. I mean, I assume it was you, otherwise there’s someone else leaving me edible goodies on my doorstep.” </p><p>“Petey! You need to be more careful accepting candies from strangers!” Deadpool mock-scolded, before shyly asking, “Did you like them? How were they?” </p><p>“Not laced with cocaine,” Peter joked, having understood and accepted Deadpool’s apology cookies; they had been rather tasty — buttery and filled with melted Smarties. “Worthy of a Paul Hollywood handshake.” </p><p>Deadpool pretended to swoon. “You mean that? Oh those baby blues do make my heart flutter…” </p><p>“You <em> did </em> make them yourself?” Peter clarified.  </p><p>“Cross my heart and hope to temporarily-die!” Deadpool sing-songed, drawing his finger over his chest. “Though I had some assistance from my helper elf. Santa isn’t omnipotent you know…” </p><p>Peter shook his head, taking another warming sip of his drink. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what Deadpool was talking about half the time, but there was something about the tangential ridiculousness of his thoughts and words that Peter couldn’t help but find relaxing. May always said he took himself too seriously, especially so after MJ, after Ben. Deadpool drew out the part of him that he’d long buried.  </p><p>They fell into companionable silence for a few moments, Deadpool using a stick to draw penis-angels in the snow at his feet.  </p><p>The silence and stillness and the previous conversations of the night played out in Peter’s mind, and his words were tentative as he asked, “Is Wade your real name?” </p><p>Deadpool gave a casual salute without looking up. “Yep! Wade Winston Wilson, at your service. Though I also go by Merc-with-a-Mouth, Captain ‘Pool, Big Dee Pee — honestly, if it’s even vaguely badass or genitally appreciative, I’ll consider it.” </p><p>“Wee Willie Winkie?” Peter offered with a grin.  </p><p>That had Deadpool lifting his head with an overexaggerated gasp of shock. “Well I never! Such filth!” He wagged one finger at Peter.“You just think about what you said, and I’m gonna write myself a memo cos, man, that’s a good one…  </p><p>As he spoke, he slipped an honest-to-god spiral notebook from one of his pockets and flipped it open, using an attached biro to jot down — presumably — Peter’s suggested nickname.  </p><p>“ — though maybe we could work on the ‘wee’ bit — I said genitally <em> appreciative </em>, and I have never had any complaints in that department…” </p><p>Peter hid his laughter in his hot chocolate. No, somehow he doubted Deadpool was exaggerating his prowess. He was over-involved and unboundaried, but so far had always been brutally honest.  </p><p>Peter could never imagine using his real name so freely while dressed as his alter-ego.  </p><p>“What do people call you?” Deadpool continued, putting his notebook away.  </p><p>Peter glanced down, taking another sip to give himself a moment to choose his words, and to swallow down the lump in his throat.  </p><p>Deadpool’s question brought up...difficult memories: Flash Thompson and his taunts and bullying; J. Jonah Jameson’s barked insults and deliberate misnomers.  </p><p>Somehow, he didn’t think Deadpool was looking for “Penis Parker”, though it did fit with his adult theme. </p><p>“Nothing of note, really,” he said at last. “I...never had a lot of friends growing up.” </p><p>Almost none now, but he wasn’t quite self-pitying enough to admit that out loud.  </p><p>Something must have shown anyway, because Deadpool held out his hand and waggled his fingers. “Gimme your phone.” </p><p>Removing his cracked phone from his pocket, Peter tapped in his passcode, and dropped it into the other man’s palm.  </p><p>There was hardly anything incriminating on his phone that he’d be afraid of Deadpool seeing — no Spider-Man selfies or web-shooter schematics these days! — and he was curious what the other man wanted to do.  </p><p>After a moment, Deadpool handed back the phone, and Peter found his contacts app open, with a brand new number, labelled with —  </p><p>“Skull..Poop..L?” he asked in confusion.  </p><p>“Deadpool! It’s clearly Deadpool!” the hero lamented loudly, throwing his arms up in the air and grumbling under his breath about ‘kids these days’ and ‘emoji culture’.  </p><p>Peter, chewing on his lip, plucked up his courage and offered, “I could just use...Wade?” </p><p>Deadpool — Wade — fell silent, and his voice sounded slightly husky when he finally replied. “Yeah. Yes. Wade. My name. Cool.” </p><p>“Okay,” Peter agreed, his cheeks warm.  </p><p>There was a beat. “You <em> sure </em> I can’t persuade you to put ‘Daddypool’ — ” </p><p>“<em> Wade </em>.” The name felt right on his lips, a friend, rather than a stranger.  </p><p>“No fun…” The merc sighed.  </p><p>“Oi, you two!” Miles peered out from the doorway, eyebrow raised in their direction. “They’re about to start...unless I’m interrupting something…?” </p><p>“We’re coming!” Peter scrambled up from his seat, and Deadp — <em> Wade </em> followed.  </p><p>Inside, the music was loud, the bass thumping, but Peter found he didn’t mind it so much now; it matched the beat of his pulse as he joined Miles by their old table, miraculously still free, Wade in tow.  </p><p>Yukio’s voice was sweet and clear as she sang into the microphone at the front of the stage; Gwen was relaxed in her seat behind the drums, and Neg’s eyes were closed as she played out a fast rhythm on the guitar, her lips curled up in pleasure.  </p><p>The guests of the bar whooped as they started to play, and Peter was swept up in the joy of it. Before long, a group began to dance in front of the small stage, and Peter was drawn towards it reluctantly, Miles pulling him from the front, and Wade pushing from behind. He’d never been a dancer, and was content to sway and nod his head along to the energetic songs from his position near to the wall. Besides, however awkward he might look, no one was there to see it: all eyes were on Wade, who was doing his best disco impersonations at the front of the crowd, and Peter found himself laughing despite himself.  </p><p>The band played their last song to a chorus of cheers, and then they were standing by their table, Gwen and Miles, Yukio and Neg, Wade and Peter, faces flushed and drinks in hand, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, counting down to midnight.  </p><p>“Happy New Year!” the room shouted as one.  </p><p>“Happy New Year, Peter!” Warm leather brushed against Peter’s cheek, an echo of a kiss, and he froze, then turned his head and pressed his lips against the edge of Wade’s jaw.  </p><p>“Happy New Year, Wade.” </p><p>
  
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Valentine's Day</strong> </span>
</p><p>It was February, and Peter was wondering where the last month had gone. The celebrations of Christmas and New Year’s felt long past, overshadowed by the stress and back-to-school busyness of January. He hadn’t been to see May at all since then, although he’d managed to phone her a few times, and sent a few messages to the Whatsapp group Gwen had added him to.  </p><p>Weirdly, the person he’d been in contact with most was... Wade.  </p><p>It seemed the merc-with-a-mouth had taken his promise to be Peter’s friend seriously — more seriously than Peter had ever imagined or expected — and after long days in the lab or between lectures when he checked his phone, he would often find a message from the other man.  </p><p>There wasn’t always consistency in the things Wade texted him — sometimes it would be a brief “how r u?” or “hey guess what i did today” followed by random photos or selfies, sometimes links to articles or etsy pages or reddit memes or cat videos. Wade seemed to have an endless abundance of silly gifs and comics to share.  </p><p>At first, Peter couldn’t help but feel pressured by the onslaught of communication, wondering how much he was meant to understand all these internet trends and questioning what exactly it was Wade wanted in reply, but Wade never seemed to mind if Peter took hours to reply, or his answers were short, or he didn’t reply at all, which was sometimes the case when one difficult day slipped into the next.  </p><p>Gradually Peter found that Wade slotted into his routine. Over time his replies became more natural as he stopped overthinking every single word he sent, and soon he looked forward to  Wade’s name popping up in his notifications.  </p><p>He hadn’t had such an easy friendship since...ever.  </p><p>Half way through the second week of February as classes were done for the day, he felt the vibration of his phone, and pulled it out of his back pocket to find today’s text from Wade.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; What u up to on weds?  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Same thing I do every Weds, Pinky!  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Grading papers… </b>
</p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; u dont get vday off work?? :O thats a crime. U shud report it. 911 whats ur emergency. Severe lack of &lt;3 and Xx  </em>
</p><p>Peter frowned before he remembered Wednesday’s date — February the 14th. Valentine’s Day. Hallmarks’ No. Two Holiday of the Year after Christmas.   Peter’s day to have his single-ness rubbed in his face.  </p><p>Okay, that was a little harsh. It’s not like he <em> minded </em> being single. He wasn’t bitter about it, or jealous of other people in relationships, but... it had been a while since he’d had someone, and he kind of missed the intimacy of it.  </p><p><b>&lt;&lt; It’s not a real holiday, Wade</b>, he typed out.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; U TAKE THAT BACK </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; ST VAL IS TURNING IN HIS GRAVE  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; BABY CUPIDS CRYING UGLY BABY TEARS  </em>
</p><p>Peter actually laughed at the ridiculousness of the texts; he’d kind of missed Wade’s unique brand of silliness too.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; All right, all right! It’s a real holiday if you say it is. I still have to work… </b>
</p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; What if i said its my bday  </em>
</p><p>Peter’s brows shot up. He pursed his lips in skepticism as he replied. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Wade, but...he didn’t believe him.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; IS it your birthday? </b>
</p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; .... </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; It cud be  </em>
</p><p>Peter could almost feel the whine in the words. </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; No “could”. It either is or it isn’t. Most people don’t pick random days as their birthday.  </b>
</p><p>Realising he’d been lingering in the hallway for a bit too long now, he hurriedly slipped his phone away and left the labs, heading in the direction of the halls of residence where his tiny room was located. </p><p>He had been lucky to get a place so close to his labs; a scholarship covered a large part of his rent, and funding that took care of the rest, with enough spare for his other expenses — few that they were.  </p><p>True, “Efficiency Unit” was a less than attractive descriptor, but it had a bed, bathroom, and even a kitchen nook with a mini-fridge and stovetop — and most importantly, it wasn’t shared, which suited him perfectly.  </p><p>Before long, he was in his room and dropping his messenger bag onto his bed while simultaneously toeing off his sneakers — and wrecking the laces, as Ben had always liked to remind him. He let his body flop down onto the rumpled covers, and retrieved his phone once more.  </p><p>A veritable essay awaited.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; Its not random its carefully planned! Xmas is obvs best holiday but not gd for bdays cuz u only get 1 prezzie cuz most ppl r cheapskates n combine and i like prezzies </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; But not like...dudley level of liking prezzies </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; I dont sit n count them </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Also v day has some of BEST things, like choc n cake n flowers n cuddly toys n heart stuff </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Whats wrong with celebrating ur ‘ships? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Romance, aromance, no-homo bromance etc </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; I am weak and like pretty things </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; I will fight capitalist agenda in other ways.  </em>
</p><p>Rolling his eyes in good humour, and utterly unsurprised by Wade’s obsession with themed merchandise, Peter couldn’t help but point out an obvious flaw in Wade’s thinking.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Wouldn’t you get more presents if you had Xmas, a birthday AND Valentine’s Day? </b>
</p><p>There was a beat, and then his phone exploded with messages, one after the other.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; … </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Omg u rite </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; U so clever! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; WAIT  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Wat abt 2 bdays ??? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; GOD SAVE THE QUEEN  </em>
</p><p>It wasn’t the first time Wade had made references to the monarch, but Peter’s knowledge and understanding of British Royalty was slim at best.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; What has the Queen got to do with it? </b>
</p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; U poor ignorant american </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; So unaware </em>
</p><p>
  <em>&gt;&gt; Queen lizzie has 2 bdays...1 in spring and 1 in summer.. Sthg to do w/ the weather...  </em>
</p><p>At least he had context for Wade’s previous comments, although he wasn’t a fan of the slight to his intelligence. It’s just… the world was a big place and he had enough trouble keeping up with events in his own state and country, let alone the minutiae of foreign dignitaries. </p><p><b>&lt;&lt; How do you know so much about it?</b>  </p><p>Over the last month, he’d been subjected to a number of Wade’s interests and hobbies, and found them rather extensive and varied. He almost always had a weird fact or anecdote to bring up, and Peter found it...well, endearing was the only word he could think of.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; Im canadian &gt;&gt; Practically the next best thing  </em>
</p><p>Peter relented.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Okay, okay </b>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Still. You’re not the Queen </b>
</p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; But I’d look so good in a dress ;)  </em>
</p><p>Joking (or not joking, because Peter had only ever seen Wade in his red and black suit, so who knew what he wore at other times) aside, Peter realised he still didn’t know what exactly Wade was proposing for Wednesday; more to his surprise, he was seriously considering using his free study afternoon to indulge him.  </p><p>Slowly, he typed out: </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; What exactly did you have in mind? </b>
</p><p>And so Wednesday found him back in Berry Hill, glancing at the address Wade had texted him and then up at the shop before him. It was a florist’s, with a slate grey facade, plants and pots spilling out onto the sidewalk on either side of the front door, and fashionable gold italics on the glass spelling out <em> Berry Blooms.   </em></p><p>He’d wondered a few times where exactly Wade lived, but he hadn’t pictured <em> this.  </em></p><p>As he stood on the sidewalk hesitating, a woman in her early forties stepped out of the shop, holding a silver watering can. Her curly brown hair was tied up in a ponytail, and large gold hoops dangled from her ears. She wore a plain tshirt and jeans, one of the knees smudged with dirt. “You lost, <em> chico </em>?” she asked, giving him a friendly smile.  </p><p>“No, thank you,” Peter replied politely, then amended, “Well, maybe? I’m looking for Wade, uh — Deadpool?” </p><p>He flushed suddenly at his careless use of Wade’s real name — he knew the other man wasn’t exactly secretive about it, but he didn’t know where the line was between friends and other people.  </p><p>The woman’s smile widened, her eyes sparking with sudden interest. “You’re Peter,” she confirmed without hesitation. “Wade told me to expect you. I’m Jacinta — his landlady.”  </p><p>“Oh! Nice to meet you.” Peter held his hand out, and Jacinta pulled off her gardening glove to shake it. “I guess I’m in the right place then.” </p><p>Jacinta laughed. “He lives up top — stairs are round the side.” She tilted her head in the direction he should go. “He’s waiting for you.” </p><p>“Thank you!” Peter nodded and stepped away, slipping his phone back into his pocket now that he’d located Wade’s address.  </p><p>“And you tell <em> el panda rojo </em> to bring my dish back —  <em> clean </em> this time.” She wagged her finger sternly.  </p><p>“Yes! I’ll make sure he does!” Peter agreed without quite knowing what he’d just promised. She reminded him too much of Aunt May to want to argue.  </p><p>“You’re a sweet boy, Peter — don’t let Wade teach you bad habits.” Jacinta laughed again and shooed him away.  </p><p>He headed down the narrow alley at the side of <em> Berry Blooms </em> which Jacinta had indicated, where he found a solid iron staircase leading up to a wooden door painted the same colour as the shop front. He climbed up the stairs to the small landing with a plantbox hung over the side of the railing; below, he could see a wooden gate leading to a small plant-filled courtyard which was attached to the back of the shop.  </p><p>There was no name on the door, or number, or even a bell, but Jacinta said he was expected, so Peter dutifully rapped his knuckles against the wood.  </p><p>Less than fifteen seconds later, the door abruptly opened to reveal Wade: as ever, he wore his red and black suit and mask, but his combat boots had been swapped for slippers in the shape of unicorn faces, and — much to Peter’s immediate embarrassment and dismay — an apron depicting the torso of Michelangelo’s David in all its x-rated glory.  </p><p>“Oh my god,” he let slip, feeling his cheeks heat up. He clapped a hand over his eyes, but the very defining shadows and highlights of the well-sculpted genitalia were seared into his brain. “Please don’t tell me you answer the door like that to everyone!” </p><p>Wade laughed. “Only the special ones.”  </p><p>“Oh lucky me!” Peter groused, unsure why he was so flustered. It wasn’t like Wade was <em> actually </em> in the nude, and Peter had studied classical art and sculpture at school. Still. “Can you do me a favour, and you know, go put something else on?” </p><p>“I’m wearing head-to-toe leather, Petey… not sure I can make myself any more decent…” Wade tutted.  </p><p>“Wade!” Peter protested.  </p><p>“All right, all right!” There was the sound of shuffling as Wade stepped away from the door; he returned almost immediately and pronounced, “Better?” </p><p>Hesitantly, Peter withdrew his hand from over his eyes and glanced at Wade again, but immediately another wave of colour flooded his cheeks. Wade had certainly ‘put something else on’ — a purple child-size apron covered in cartoon narwhals which only just covered the penis of the apron below it, but was not long enough to hide the curving bulge of the testicles.  </p><p>“You suck so much,” he fumed, glaring at Wade in continued embarrassment.  </p><p>Wade cackled in glee, before relenting and yanking both aprons over his head, dropping them to the floor out of view. “I couldn’t help it. You’re cute when you blush.” </p><p>The comment did nothing to reduce the redness in his cheeks, but Peter was determined to ignore it. “Can I come in now, or do you want to make a spectacle of me some more?”  </p><p>Wade shook his head and took a step back from the doorway. “I’m done, promise. Come in! Welcome to <em> Casa de ‘Pool </em>! Let me show you around!” </p><p>Grateful for the reprieve, Peter stepped through the front door into Wade’s apartment, and he looked around curiously. He found himself in a brightly-lit L-shaped corridor: the floors were a light grey-ish wood laminate, and the walls were papered in a modern geometric triangle design in teals, greys, pinks and blues.  </p><p>Behind him, Wade peered out of the front door.  </p><p>“What are you looking for?” Peter asked.  </p><p>“Checking for hitch-hikers,” Wade told him. “You have a reputation.” </p><p>Peter gaped. “That was <em> one time </em>  — and it was <em> you </em>!” he couldn’t help but remind him.  </p><p>“And let’s make sure it stays that way, hmm?” Wade said seriously. He closed the door at last, and made grabby hands in Peter’s direction. “Let me take your coat.” </p><p>“Oh!” Peter hurriedly unzipped his water-proof jacket, shouldering out of it and handing it over to Wade. “Shoes on or off?” </p><p>“Whatever makes you comfy!” Wade told him cheerfully, tucking Peter’s coat away in a fitted closet, and leaning down to remove something else. “But, just in case it sways your decision, my slippers are way cooler than the ones at The Bitch.” He turned around and wiggled what looked like pink cuddly toy bunnies in Peter’s direction; it took him a good few seconds to realise yes, they were meant to go on his feet.  </p><p>“I...sure.” Peter shrugged. He’d been taught good manners, after all, and when he slipped his feet into them he could admit they were super warm, albeit ever so slightly ridiculous. Then again, he was starting to expect that from Wade. “How do I look?” he teased. </p><p>Wade feigned a swoon. “Cinderella ain’t got nothing on you.” </p><p>Peter laughed, and glanced down one of the corridors. “Where next?” </p><p>“Don’t think you’re ready for the bedroom just yet,” Wade told him, nudging him away from the closed door just past the closet, and down the other side where the wallpaper gave way to a beautiful and delicate hand-painted Japanese style landscape mural of mountains, trees and clouds.  </p><p>“Little boy’s room,” Wade indicated the half-open door opposite, and Peter caught a glimpse of bright turquoise tiles as they carried on to the main living room, where Wade stepped to the side with a flourish. “Voila!” </p><p>Peter stopped short, his eyes widening as they darted from one thing to another, trying to take it all in. “Oh my god,” he repeated.  </p><p>Two large plant-filled windows and a skylight let in bright sunshine, flooding the open area with light; the flooring continued the same from the hallway, while here the walls were a patchwork of different shaped blocks of colour and patterned wallpaper, as if Wade had been testing samples and been unable to decide, so just used them all.  </p><p>Directly in front of Peter was the largest and most comfortable gaming set-up he had ever seen and his inner nerd wanted to weep in envy at the 90 inch flat screen TV, with its neatly stacked array of consoles beneath, and the u-shaped black leather sofa which looked like it could comfortably seat over a half a dozen people, or accommodate three adults fully lying down. Behind the sofa in the far corner was a square dining table covered in books, unopened packages, and a half-completed jigsaw; above it hung a chandelier that Peter almost suspected was genuine crystal from the way it glinted.  </p><p>Tucked away in the last corner was the kitchen and island: the tiled floor was dark slate, the cupboards a stylish alternating black and white glossy veneer, while the countertop and splashback were a matching zebra print in rainbow colours.  </p><p><em> “Oh my god. </em>” </p><p>He really needed to find something new to say, he thought idly, but he was too distracted and delighted. It was colour and chaos, clashing and a tiny bit crazy. It was perfectly Wade.  </p><p>“I love it.” </p><p>Wade had remained silent while Peter looked around, but he perked up at that. “You do?” </p><p>Peter nodded, then quirked a grin. “How on earth did you get Jacinta to agree?” It was very Wade, but it was hardly going to appeal to the majority of renters.  </p><p>Wade scratched the back of his head. “It was kind of a fixer-upper when I got it...and when I offered a bit of extra money if I could do it up DP-Style, well. She was very obliging. She probably didn’t expect <em> this… </em> but. A promise is a promise!” He shrugged.  </p><p>“How long have you been here?” Peter asked, stepping closer to a shelf filled with comic books and board games.  </p><p>Wade lifted his head to the ceiling. “Just over four years I guess? I tried a few different places first, but Jacinta’s is the best.” </p><p>It fit with the timeline Peter had worked out for Wade coming to Berry Hill. “Why here?”  </p><p>It had been one of the questions burning inside him ever since he’d learned about Wade’s identity of Deadpool, but he hadn’t felt able to voice it before now. He still wasn’t sure how much Wade would be willing to reveal.  </p><p>“I had a reason to settle down, I guess,” Wade answered cryptically, then seemed to have an internal debate with himself, before he moved past Peter to another cabinet, where he brought down a small double photo-frame. He held it out.  </p><p>The left side showed a photo of a young girl, about eight or nine, with caramel coloured skin, dark brown eyes, and thick brown hair that spilled out of her high ponytail, a strand caught in the ice cream she was eating. On the right side was a crayon drawing of two figures, one in Deadpool’s red and black uniform, the other smaller with the same mess of hair. Below it in squiggly child’s handwriting was “I love you Daddy”, and several stickers in the shape of hearts.  </p><p>Peter’s fingers ghosted over the words, and he glanced up at Wade in surprise and awe. “You have a daughter.” </p><p>“Her name’s Ellie,” Wade told him, and the love and pride in his voice was so evident that Peter felt his throat go tight. “She’s brilliant and beautiful and one of the best things to happen to me.” </p><p>“She lives in Berry Hill,” Peter realised, and it explained so much. The reason Wade lived here, his desire to protect this town and name himself its hero, his caution on the internet about his location. Still, Wade’s apartment had the odd sign of Ellie’s presence, now Peter knew what to look for, but it was clear she didn’t live here. “But not with you. Who…?” </p><p>Wade crossed his arms in an uncharacteristic show of self-consciousness. “Her mum died, and she was adopted... I didn’t find out about her until she was nearly three. Not that it made much difference, cos I wasn’t about to let her grow up with this trainwreck of a person -,” he pointed to himself, “ — but I’m damn well gonna be around to watch her grow up, and kick the asses of anyone who so much as lays a finger on her with anything less than the love and devotion she deserves.” </p><p>Peter had never felt so strongly about anyone in his life, and his stomach twisted with something warm as he listened to Wade. He thought of Ben and May, who’d opened their homes and lives to him after his parents had died, and never made him feel less for not being their own. It seemed Ellie had that too, but also a father who cared enough about her to give up the life he’d previously had to be part of her childhood.  “She looks happy,” he told Wade, returning the picture frame. </p><p>Wade visibly brightened. “She’s a smart kid. And she has a hell of a personality. Got her looks from her mummy, though, thank god.” He returned the frame to its place on the shelf.  </p><p>“Thank you for telling me about her.” Ellie was important to Wade, and Peter didn’t take lightly the trust Wade had shown in him by sharing this part of himself.  </p><p>They were interrupted by a sudden beeping, and Wade let out a whoop. “Oh! First batch is done.”  </p><p>He practically vaulted over the sofa on his way to the kitchen. The oven opened with a plume of steam and the most delicious smell of baked goods Peter had encountered outside of Dunkin’ Donuts. He stepped up to the kitchen island and watched as Wade slipped on some novelty Xmas oven mitts and carefully pulled out a baking tray, setting it down on the stove.  </p><p>“You mentioned baking the other day,” Peter commented. “What are you making?” </p><p>“See for yourself!” Wade nudged over a cookbook which was lying on the counter, and Peter twisted it so he could see the recipe it was open to. The chocolate cupcakes in the photo looked incredible, and peering over Wade’s shoulder, Peter was amazed to see that Wade’s actually looked reasonably similar, although he hadn’t put the frosting and decorations on yet.  </p><p>“They look so good! What’s the occasion again?” </p><p>“Did I not tell you Valentine’s Day in and of itself is a perfectly acceptable reason for chocolate and baked goods and nice things?” Wade reminded him with an affronted sniff.  </p><p>“You did. Sorry.” He tried to sound more apologetic than on the verge of laughing.  </p><p>Wade gave another sniff, just to prove the point. “As it so happens, it’s Valentine’s Day <em> and </em> I agreed to provide some goodies for Ellie’s sleepover this weekend, so it’s like a double win. A Win-Squared if you will.” </p><p>Peter couldn’t argue with that logic. “You still got a lot to do?” </p><p>“Mmm,” Wade eyed the tray in front of him. “Could do with whipping up another batch. Kids are like little black holes of food. Although, so am I really...” </p><p>“Can I help?” Peter offered. </p><p>Wade tilted his head to one side. “Sure, if you want.” He leaned down to open one of the island’s cupboard doors, taking out what looked like another apron.  </p><p>Peter braced himself for more humiliation, but the old-school comic Wonder Woman design Wade put on was...actually not too bad, in terms of decency, even if the bosom area was a little exaggerated and the starred shorts were skimpy. It wasn’t a naked man, which Peter felt grateful for. Still, he lifted a brow questioningly.  </p><p>“Gotta pay homage to the booty currently propping up the DC Film franchise,” Wade informed him, giving Wonder Woman’s hefty thighs a pat. The irony there was Wade’s own thighs were probably just as muscled, if not <em> more </em> so.  </p><p>Another apron was pushed across the counter towards Peter, and he could almost feel Wade vibrating on the spot as he waited for Peter’s reaction. Feeling cheeky, he deliberately took his time shaking the apron out, and kept his expression blank as he read the slogan on the front: <em> I like my butt rubbed and my pork pulled. </em> Biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling, he ducked down to slip the apron over his head, and carefully tied the strings behind his back. Only then did he look to Wade again, squarely meeting his eyes.  </p><p>“How did you know?” he whispered in the filthiest tone he could manage, then promptly ruined it all by bursting into laughter.  </p><p>The explosive groan Wade let out was startlingly loud after the moment of silence, and he fell back against the counter behind him. “<em> Peter.”  </em></p><p>“Sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Peter hurried to apologise, then found himself blushing again at how <em> that </em> too sounded. This was why he tried not to flirt, because he was <em> terrible </em> at it.  </p><p>“No, no, I refuse to let you take it back. It was <em> perfect. </em>” Wade pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” </p><p><em> ‘That’s what she said </em>’ sat on the tip of his tongue, but Peter wasn’t going to let their conversation devolve any further — for the sake of his burning cheeks if nothing else. He would bet his car that in a competition of innuendo and adult humour, Wade would absolutely wipe the floor with him, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Heroically, he moved the subject away to more innocent topics.  </p><p>“Right, baking. What are we doing?” He glanced down at the recipe book again. “I mean, it’s almost impossible to mess up with cupcakes, right?” </p><p>Wade stilled and eyed him warily. “I...how much baking have you done, Peter?”  </p><p>“Um. Not much,” he answered honestly.  </p><p>“That’s what I thought,” Wade said breezily, and slid over a heart-shaped cookie cutter and a block of modelling chocolate. “How about we start with cutting out some shapes to go on top of the cupcakes, and then we’ll take it from there? If you’re <em> really </em> good, you can even lick the spoon when I’m done.” </p><p>Peter narrowed his eyes. “I’m only allowing such blatant patronising because it’s your home and I’m a guest.” He pulled the supplies over to his side of the island, and made a show of rolling up his sleeves. “You just watch — these are gonna be the best decorated cupcakes you’ve ever seen.” </p><p>Wade let out a whistle. “Big words, Petey. Show me what you got.” </p><p>After washing his hands and settling onto one of the barstools, Peter got going on his allocated task, determined to do well and win one over on Wade. Unfortunately, Wade proved to be a large distraction, humming to himself as he shimmeyed round the kitchen area, grabbing bowls and measuring cups and eggs from the fridge. He didn’t even seem to be looking at the recipe, just throwing things into the mixing bowl in what (to Peter) appeared to be a random order, but Wade seemed pleased with. He didn’t use an electric mixer either, instead hand whisking at a speed only possible for someone with muscles like his. </p><p>Peter tried not to stare. His powers gave him strength, sure, but he was more lean-bodied than a powerhouse like Wade, and couldn’t help but be impressed by the differences in their physiques.  </p><p>Before Peter knew it, Wade was pushing his tray of cupcakes into the oven and tapping his phone to set the timer. He wandered over to Peter’s side of the island, and hooked his chin over Peter’s shoulder, resting against his back. “How’s it going?” </p><p>Peter cleared his throat, looking down at the uneven and lumpy slab of chocolate that he’d been trying to flatten. </p><p>“It keeps sticking to the rolling pin,” he muttered, petulantly foisting the blame onto the chocolate rather than his own inadequacy.  </p><p>“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Wade laughed in his ear. “Let’s just… yeah, how about I take that and roll it out for you, and you just hand me over that icing sugar…” </p><p>Peter thought Wade would move away to demonstrate the proper rolling technique, but the other man did no such thing — instead bracketing Peter within his strong arms as he deftly prised up the chocolate and sprinkled a bit of the powdered sugar over the countertop. He plopped the chocolate back down and reached for the rolling pin which he also coated with the sugar. Within a minute he had a neat 15 x15 square of perfectly even red chocolate.  </p><p>He set aside the roller and reached for the cookie cutter, pressing it down into the chocolate and wiggling it. It came out with ease; next, a small nudge with his finger and a perfect, heart-shaped piece dropped out into his other hand. “Ta da!” </p><p>Peter sighed despondently. “I can code the software for an MRI in my sleep, but modeling chocolate defeats me.” </p><p>Wade laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Swings and roundabouts, Petey-pie. Swings and roundabouts.” </p><p>Craning his neck round, Peter wrinkled his nose. “I don’t even know what that means.” </p><p>“One day you will, my young baking padawan.” With one last pat, Wade finally moved away. “Ready to take the training wheels off and have a go on your own?” </p><p>Only a tiny bit put out by all the novice comments, while also acknowledging that he hadn’t really made a good showing of himself thus far, Peter spent the next half hour concentrating on following Wade’s example: the chocolate was already rolled out, and after the first two wobbly hearts, he got the hang of using the cutter. Wade deposited several cupcakes next to him along with a bowl of melted chocolate, and demonstrated how to drizzle it over the top of the cupcake and then stick on the heart while it was still gooey, before setting them in the fridge to cool and set.  </p><p>Before long, there was a little procession of cupcakes, and Peter felt rather proud of his contributions. Chocolate was chocolate, right? Preteens wouldn’t care if a few of them were lopsided and a bit smudged? Speaking of... </p><p>Peter gave a small grimace as he looked down at himself. Wade had been wise to provide the aprons — baking was a messy business. He washed his hands in the sink, and ineffectually rubbed a wet cloth against some of the chocolate stains across his front, eventually discarding his apron to one side. He made his way over to Wade; he’d been so focussed on his own work he hadn’t really paid attention to what the other man had been doing.  </p><p>Turns out he really should have been.  </p><p>A rather anatomically accurate miniature penis and testicles in pink sat atop Wade’s current cupcake: white chocolate drizzle made for weirdly lifelike semen trails that dripped down the sides and pooled along the edge of the paper cupcake holder.  </p><p>Biting his lip, Peter ventured, “Wade...aren’t these for your daughter’s sleepover?”  </p><p>Splattering on one last jizz stain, Wade leaned back to admire his handiwork. “Well, not <em> all </em> of them. We have to taste-test! This one’s for you.” Wade nudged the cupcake towards him with both hands, like an offering to the gods.  </p><p>“You know what, I think I’m going to let you have that one… s’only fair seeing as how you made it.” Peter prodded the cupcake back towards Wade.  </p><p>“But you’re the <em> guest </em> .” Wade shook his head like a puppy, sliding the cupcake back again. “I <em> insist </em>.” </p><p>Peter sighed and shot Wade his most exasperated look. “Are we really doing this?” </p><p>Folding his arms across the counter, Wade rested his chin on top, the epitome of innocence. “Really, really.”  </p><p>They really would do this for the next however long if he let it, Peter could just tell. Wade was stubborn enough for it; and yet, it was with playful intent. He was sure that if at any point he had indicated he was in any way uncomfortable with the adult humour, Wade would have stopped in an instant. </p><p>But Peter was stubborn and contrary in his own right.  </p><p>Swiping the cupcake from the counter, he peeled off the paper case in one quick move, and took a huge bite of the cake — chocolate penis and all. His chewing was purposefully loud and obnoxious, and when he swallowed, he bared his chocolate-coated teeth in a wide grin. “Happy now?” </p><p>Wade’s cackle was confirmation enough. “Oh, Petey, I hope you don’t treat your lovers that way. Not everyone can regrow their penis like I can…”  </p><p>The other half of his cupcake dropped to the counter as his cheeks flamed once more. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Peter blurted out and made an undignified retreat; Wade’s laughter followed him from the room.  </p><p>In the bathroom, Peter locked the door, and turned to the sink. Running the tap cold, he splashed water on his heated face. Burying his face in his hands, he groaned, “<em> What are you doing?”  </em></p><p>Honestly, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. He <em> never </em> acted like this with anyone else. Sure, he liked puns and making cheesy jokes, but not <em> this.   </em></p><p>...But when had he had the chance? He’d been a nerd at school; the people he spent time with had been study acquaintances rather than friends, and his family didn’t count. Even at MIT, he’d not got close to anyone, in that weird middle ground between student and faculty.  </p><p>There had been a glimpse of it at Christmas and New Years, with Gwen, and Miles, Neg and Yukio. People who had seemed to accept his seriousness and his silliness.  </p><p>Yet, even they didn’t react to him the way Wade did: as if everything he did was a delight.  </p><p>As if he was something special.  </p><p>(But was he? Or did Wade treat everyone that way...) </p><p>Lowering his hands, he turned off the tap and reached for the hand towel to dry his face; it was soft, and rainbow-coloured, and had an embroidered pineapple in each corner, because of course it did. The rug in front of the toilet and the sink matched.  </p><p>The rest of the bathroom was nice too; it felt bright and tranquil, even without any natural lighting. The tub was bigger than any Peter had ever seen, but he supposed Wade was over six foot, and from all the bottles of soap and lotion and oils, apparently a bath-over-shower guy. There were signs of Ellie here as well — children’s shampoo and rubber bath toys, and a small toadstool-shaped step so she could reach the sink.  </p><p>Sighing, he returned the towel to its place, and left the bathroom.  </p><p>When he stepped back into the main room, it was to see Wade hurriedly pulling his mask back down over his chin. Peter paused on the threshold, momentarily awkward, wondering if he should apologise. Before he could decide, Wade bustled over.  </p><p>“I finished off decorating the ones that were left — <em> not </em> penises, I promise.” He’d removed his apron too, and a glance at the counter revealed the baking paraphernalia had been cleared away and most of the surfaces wiped down.  </p><p><em> How long had he been in the bathroom? </em>  </p><p>Peter winced. “I barely did anything with the baking. At least I could have helped clean…” </p><p>“Psh. Not gonna force you to do the non-fun part of cakes.” Wade flapped his hand, and further dismissed the issue by asking, “You thought of what you wanna do next? I figured maybe we could watch something, or play some games?” </p><p>He hadn’t thought much about what else they might do, but glancing over his shoulder at the other end of the room, he was sorely tempted to take advantage of Wade’s comfortable TV and sofa set-up. “Maybe… gaming? If you have something we could do together...?” </p><p>“The middle seats are recliners,” Wade stage-whispered behind him, a literal devil on his shoulder. “You can try it out while I get the snacks.” </p><p>Well, Peter couldn’t say no to that. While Wade opened some cabinets in the kitchen, Peter settled himself onto the expansive leather sofa. A tiny moan of pleasure escaped him as he sunk into the plush cushions, followed by a louder one as he figured out the controls of the remote and his section of the sofa tilted, his legs and bunny-slippered feet stretched out before him and his head supported by the perfectly positioned back-rest. </p><p>“Wade?” he called, letting his eyes fall shut.  </p><p>“Yes, Petey?” </p><p>“I’m just gonna live on your sofa now, hope that’s okay.” </p><p>An indulgent laugh. “Sure thing, Petey.” </p><p>He gave himself a few moments to enjoy the small comfort, twisting his spine until it gave a satisfying click, and tucking his hands beneath his head. He blinked his eyes open when he felt Wade join him on the sofa; a large bowl of tortilla chips covered in salsa, melted cheese and jalapenos sat within easy reach on a tray between them.  </p><p>“Oh, awesome,” he thanked him, reaching out to grab a few and stuffing them none-too-politely into his mouth. “Mmm.” </p><p>Wade opened the drawer of the coffee table, and took out some controllers, dropping one into Peter’s lap, and keeping a second one for himself. Turning on the TV, he started up Steam, and began to flick through his rather extensive list of games. Peter saw the entire LEGO Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Indiana Jones collections.  </p><p>“So, I have a few multiplayer games…” </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Peter licked cheese off his fingers before wiping them against his jeans. </p><p>“....How do you feel about… Genital Jousting?” </p><p>Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d rolled his eyes so much. “Wade, are you sure you’re not secretly fourteen? I’ve never met an adult who spends so much time thinking about dicks, outside of maybe a Sex Addict Anonymous group.” </p><p>“Excuse you! I have it on good authority that I think about penises a perfectly appropriate amount!” Wade exclaimed with mock-outrage.  </p><p>With extreme reluctance, Peter asked, “And whose authority is that?” </p><p>A pause. “My SAA sponsor.” </p><p>“I hate that I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” Peter sighed.  </p><p>They settled on “Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes”, which Peter had heard about but never played. He joked the title summed Wade up rather well, much to Wade’s protest. It was surprisingly easy to find a rhythm together, Wade unusually serious as he followed Peter’s instructions on how to defuse the bomb, his own turn with the manual equally as succinct and practical. Within a few rounds they had a system, their own code for the squiggly symbols —  </p><p>“Half an ‘R’, a white star, a curly Q, and the thing that looks like boobies.” </p><p>“Wade, I am not calling that symbol ‘boobies’.” </p><p>“Come up with something else then.” </p><p>“I <em> can’t </em>.” </p><p>“Boobies it is.” </p><p>It was a side of Wade Peter hadn’t really had a chance to see: quick and clever and weirdly scary, what with his muttered comparisons to real-life bombs, which reminded Peter that Wade had a dark and violent past that he’d only glimpsed in news articles, and the store robbery. He thought being faced with it would change his growing feelings for the other man, but oddly, it didn’t.  </p><p>Peter would need to reflect on that later, he suspected.  </p><p>After they’d exhausted that game and tried a variety of different levels and difficulties, Wade brought up Tricky Towers, and returned to his ridiculous antics. Peter felt five years old as he frantically tried to build his tower and fend off Wade’s attacks — both virtual and physical, as he seemed to supplement his in-game sabotages with nudging his elbow into Peter’s side and bodily blocking Peter’s view of the TV to try to throw off his game. If Peter put a little bit of his strength into holding Wade back while he maneuvered his bricks, well, Wade didn’t seem to notice; if he did, he made no comment.  </p><p>Flushed and a little giddy with laughter, they sat with their bodies pressed together from shoulder to hip. Wade pulled a soggy jalapeno from beneath his butt-cheek, and peered at the floor where unfortunately the rest of the tortilla chips had fallen victim to their tussling.  </p><p>“You still hungry? I don’t think I’ve got any more chips, but I have some leftover lasagna that Jacinta brought over yesterday. It’s really good.” </p><p>Peter hesitated a moment, before asking, “Are you going to eat?” </p><p>“Nah, I’ll eat later.” </p><p>Peter bit his lip.  </p><p>He’d sometimes been called oblivious, but there were things even he couldn’t ignore.  </p><p>He thought about Christmas, of New Year’s Eve; platters of food and hot cocoa; of Blow Job shots and cocktails; of Wade never touching a thing.  </p><p>He thought of a throwaway comment, as they sat on a bench surrounded by snow.  </p><p>“You don’t keep your mask on to hide your identity, do you?” he asked lightly, quietly, turning his head so he could look at Wade. It was less of a question, more a wish for confirmation of something he already knew.  </p><p>Beside him, Wade tensed, and said nothing.  </p><p>“I’m not going to push for something you don’t want to give,” Peter continued in the same gentle tone. “I just wanted you to know that...whatever it is, it won’t change things.” </p><p>“You don’t know that.” It was mumbled so quietly, only his enhanced senses allowed him to hear it.  </p><p>“I know I like you,” Peter stated firmly. “And I like spending time with you. I...would like to get to know you more.” </p><p>Wade shifted in place, but didn’t move away. After several long moments, as if the words were drawn out of him by force, he finally confessed, “It’s not pretty. <em> I’m </em> not pretty.” </p><p>Peter chose his words carefully. “Some things matter more than what’s on the surface.” </p><p>The silence this time was even longer, as if Wade were mulling over Peter’s words. Peter didn’t know whether to say anything more, or even just to drop the conversation in the face of Wade’s discomfort. It wasn’t quite regret, he felt, at bringing it up: he hadn’t planned to, but it felt important somehow.  </p><p>At last, Wade turned to face Peter. He lifted his hands to the back of his head. His mask came free from the neck of his suit, and he slipped it off, clenching it in his fists as they came to rest on his lap. He raised his head and met Peter’s eyes without the mask.  </p><p>Peter let his eyes roam freely over Wade’s features, first the crown of his bare head, the strong chin and firm lips, the bright, piercing blue of his eyes, and then he allowed himself to focus on the scars... Pockmarks and raw welts, shiny silver patches and lumps of growth marred Wade’s skin, and even before Peter’s eyes, seemed to shift and change in form, covering his whole head and disappearing under the red leather of his collar.  </p><p>It wasn’t pretty, no. But it was Wade.  </p><p>“Does it hurt?” Peter asked quietly.  </p><p>Wade blinked, as if Peter’s question had taken him by surprise. “Sometimes more, sometimes less,” he answered diplomatically, but Peter heard the truth behind it. He understood the presence of all the lotions and soaps in the bathroom now.  </p><p>“It’s your choice,” Peter reiterated. “But...don’t feel you need to hide with me.” </p><p>Wade gave a stiff nod. </p><p>Peter nudged his thigh with his bunny-covered toe. “It’s okay. You’re not getting rid of me so easily,” he teased, trying to lighten the heavy mood that had fallen upon them.  </p><p>“Damn, I was hoping it would do the trick.” Wade’s mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. His breath shuddered slightly as he released a sigh, and some of the tension in his shoulders began to ease, although he still seemed at a loss of where to go from here.  </p><p>“You mentioned food?” Peter prompted after another moment of silence.  </p><p>Wade appeared to welcome the distraction, jerking to attention. “Yes!” </p><p>Slipping off the couch and getting to his feet, Peter couldn’t help but ask again, “Are you going to join me?”  </p><p>Wade glanced down at the mask in his lap, stroking a gloved finger along the edge. Then he stretched forward and placed it on the coffee table. He cleared his throat gruffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.” </p><p>Ten minutes later, and they sat side by side on the barstools at the island, tucking into reheated lasagna. Wade hadn’t exaggerated Jacinta’s cooking skills, and Peter ate far more quickly and far more food than he really should have.  </p><p>“More?” Wade held out the glass dish. Somewhere in that time, he’d removed his gloves; his hands were marked the same as his face, as Peter was beginning to suspect was the case with his whole body.  </p><p>“I really shouldn’t…” Peter demured. He’d already had one large helping, although he wasn’t yet full.  </p><p>Ignoring Peter’s show of politeness, Wade transferred more of the dish to his plate. “Look. You don’t get it. Jacinta — she <em> cooks </em> . A <em> lot </em>. And she’s a feeder. If she comes and sees I haven’t finished it, I’m gonna get a proper telling off, and trust me, Petey, I’d really rather avoid that.” </p><p>“Well, when you put it that way…” Peter dug in happily. He rarely got to enjoy such good home-cooked meals, and he was going to make the most of it.  </p><p>Content and full, they found themselves back on the sofa, and Wade flicked through the TV channels until he came upon what seemed to be a British dog grooming show.  </p><p>“Pooch Perfect?” Peter snickered.  </p><p>“It’s Pomeranians this week,” Wade informed him, and then proceeded to spend an hour squeeing and cooing at the TV as the little puff-balls were washed and groomed and paraded for judgement. Leaning against Peter’s shoulder, his uncovered face nestled on the sofa a hair's-breadth away, he gave a wistful sigh. “I want one.” </p><p>“Yeah?” Peter hummed, watching him, slightly disbelieving of the trust that Wade had shown in him today. </p><p>“Ellie would love it. A white one. And then we could dye it like those poodles.” He paused, eyeing the TV where the show had ended on a screenshot of a poodle with a dyed pink heart on its bum. “Well. Not <em> quite </em> like those poodles,” he amended.  </p><p>“Please, no,” Peter fervently agreed. It had...not been his favourite look.  </p><p>And then it got late, and Peter started reluctantly looking at the time on his phone and calculating the drive back to Boston. “I have to go…” </p><p>Wade gave a disappointed groan and smushed his face into one of the cushions. “If I don’t watch, it’s not happening.” </p><p>“That is not how it works.” He clicked his tongue, but was amused all the same, especially when Wade followed him to the hallway, a picture of dejection with slumped shoulders and shuffling steps. Peter gave up his slippers for his shoes once more and reached for his jacket.  </p><p>“Wait! I need to get you something!” Wade bounded off down the corridor, and Peter heard some crashing sounds from the kitchen, before Wade reappeared, this time with two large tupperware boxes in his hands.  </p><p>“Lasagna,” he lifted one box, then the other, “Cupcakes,” before thrusting them at Peter.  </p><p>Standing in the doorway, tupperware clutched to his chest and looking up at Wade’s half-smile, he suddenly felt overwhelmed by his own joy at a day spent in the company of someone he liked — <em> really </em> liked.  </p><p>“I had a really good time today,” he admitted.  </p><p>“Me too.” Wade cleared his throat, and continued to stare down at him, as if not wanting the moment to end.  </p><p>This time, when Peter lifted up on his toes, and leaned towards Wade, it was simply them. There was no crowd, no music. There was no mask. </p><p>Hand resting lightly on Wade’s arm for balance, Peter’s lips brushed against the textured warmth of Wade’s cheek. He held a moment, two, his breath releasing in a soft exhale, and then he stepped back. </p><p>Wade looked at him in something like wonder. His fingers came up to rest against the place where Peter’s lips had touched his cheek.  </p><p>Heartbeat elevated and his stomach a bundle of nerves, Peter said, “Text me,” in lieu of “Goodbye”, and bounded down the iron stairs.  </p><p>At the end of the alleyway, where it met the main road, he allowed himself a single look over his shoulder.  </p><p>Wade remained where he was, a dark silhouette against the light of the open doorway.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <strong>Easter Sunday</strong> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>Peter hadn’t initially planned to spend Easter Sunday chaperoning an Egg Hunt in Berry Hill’s local park; he’d thought more along the lines of cinnamon buns for breakfast, maybe escorting May to work before doing some shopping, and then spending a day of catch-up TV and chocolate.  </p><p>As it was, Wade had asked, and here he therefore was, hands tucked into the pockets of his red plaid jacket, wending his way across the open green field towards the middle. If the picnic table and coloured balloons weren’t clue enough of the event’s location, Wade always knew how to draw attention to himself.  </p><p>As Deadpool, he was usually easy to spot in a crowd; dressed as a white bunny mascot, he was even easier to find. He raised his gloved hand in exuberant greeting, bouncing slightly on the spot.  </p><p>“Over heeeere!” </p><p>Peter shook his head as he drew close enough to speak, his lips curling up in amusement. “Wade...what on earth are you wearing?”  </p><p>The costume was probably not designed for someone of Wade’s stature and physique; the fuzzy material stretched alarmingly across his shoulders and thighs, and Peter could see glimpses of Wade’s red suit at his wrists and ankles.  </p><p>“You don’t think it’s cute?” Wade held his basket to his chest and jutted out his hip in a coquettish pose more suited to Playboy Bunny than Easter Bunny.  </p><p>“Try ‘deranged’,” Peter told him bluntly. “You look terrifying. I’m surprised they’ve let you come within six feet of the park.” </p><p>“Geez, be honest why don’t you!” Tucking his basket between his knees, Wade struggled a moment to prise off the oversized bunny head with his equally oversized padded gloves, revealing his usual masked face beneath. Holding the offending head out before him, he twisted it this way and that as he considered the over-large black eyes and wide smiling mouth. “Fuck! You’re right.” </p><p>“<em> Wade! Language! </em>” Peter hissed, glancing about to make sure no innocent ears were close enough to hear Wade’s not-so-innocent cursing. Luckily, it seemed the children hadn’t arrived yet, and it was just the two of them.  </p><p>“Fudge, then!” Wade dropped the costume head to the grass, visibly drooping. “I knew I shouldn’t have let Yukio have the onesie…” </p><p>“Oh, is she here?” Peter glanced around, but couldn’t see her nearby. </p><p>“Yeah, she’s just grabbing stuff from the van,” Wade explained. “Her mom’s the mayor, so she volunteered herself to run it...and then dragged me in like the good citizen I am…”  </p><p>“Kicking and screaming, I’m sure,” Peter nudged him with his elbow. “Bet you couldn’t wait.” </p><p>“Didn’t take much to convince <em> you </em>,” Wade retorted.  </p><p>“Well, maybe I just wanted to spend time with you,” Peter retorted. </p><p>It was truer than he might like to admit. After their not-date-but-maybe-date-in-retrospect on Valentine’s Day, Peter was sure things would be awkward between them. Although it took them a week or so to find the new boundaries of their friendship — they weren’t over a line, by any means, but they were definitely nudging against it with a toe — things fell back into routine quickly. They texted; Peter finally caved and followed Wade’s instagram; Wade sent him silly memes; and Peter managed precisely <em> one </em> flirtatious text before succumbing to embarrassment.  </p><p>They’d only seen each other in person once since then, when Wade had — for some unimaginable reason — persuaded Berry Hill’s locally owned cinema to host a showing of <em>Cats.</em> Peter had wondered at the late-night time of the showing, up until the film started and a horrified yet amazed Miles loudly whispered — “Dude. How did you get your hands on the <em>butthole version?</em>” </p><p>He’d known the reviews had been bad, but Peter hadn’t truly appreciated how awful the film actually was — until he was forced to watch the terrifying, CGI human-cat-hybrids prance around the thirty-four foot high definition screen. And yes, with buttholes.  </p><p>Still, aside from Miles, Gwen and a few other brave souls, the theatre had been empty, which had allowed them all to space out, and even better, had left Wade and Peter alone in the back row. Peter had spent more time watching Wade’s gleeful snickering and knee-slapping groans than the film itself — and keeping an eye on his popcorn which Wade had none-too-subtly been stealing; safe in the dark, despite being in public, Wade hadn’t hesitated to roll his mask up over his chin to eat his ill-gotten gains. The pilfered popcorn had been worth that alone.   </p><p>There was part of him that regretted that they were once again meeting in public with others; there would be no opportunity to recreate the comfortable intimacy of that day they’d spent alone in Wade’s apartment. Still, it was a bright but breezy April morning, and Peter was determined to enjoy himself, and Wade’s company.  </p><p>“You really came to hang out with me?” Wade’s grin was huge, visible even under the mask. </p><p>“Well, you and a dozen or so excited children, I guess,” Peter amended.  </p><p>“Best. Day. Ever!” Wade crowed. “Oh my god! You can meet Ellie! You’ll love her!” </p><p>“She’s coming? That’s great!” Peter’s enthusiasm wasn’t feigned, but he couldn’t help but be slightly nervous at the prospect of that meeting. He knew how much his daughter meant to Wade, and her importance in his life, and Peter really liked Wade, so he kind of needed Ellie to like <em> him </em>.  </p><p>“Hey! Dweeb-pool! You actually planning on helping at some point today?!” </p><p>Peter turned around to find Gwen and Yukio trudging across the field with several boxes and bags in hand. Yukio was indeed wearing a white bunny onesie, her hair tied up in two ponytails and dyed bright blue at the tips. Even Gwen had got into the spirit of things, and had painted the tip of her nose pink and drawn whiskers on her cheeks. </p><p>“Nah!” Wade argued with Gwen. “You look like you got things covered. ‘Sides, one of us has  to look pretty for when the kids get here!” </p><p>Gwen snorted. “Yeah, but it certainly ain’t gonna be you. I’ll give you kudos for ditching the creepy mask, though. Well. Creepi-<em> er </em> mask.” </p><p>“Ouch!” Wade glanced down at the mascot head still at his feet, and kicked it a bit further away under the picnic table. He cleared his throat. “Peter, ah, showed me the error of my ways.” </p><p>Gwen arched her eyebrow. “I’m sure he did.”  </p><p>Her suggestive tone left Peter flustered yet again, and he hurried to take one of the overfilled bags from Yukio. “Let me help you with that.” </p><p>“Thanks, Peter!”  </p><p>Peering inside he found plastic eggs in various sizes and colours; he estimated there were several hundred of them. “That’s a lot of eggs,” he commented in surprise.  </p><p>“The Egg Hunt’s pretty popular,” Yukio told him, setting down the box in her arms. This one was filled with child-size buckets, decorated with coloured ribbons on the handles. “We had to start splitting the age groups, so the younger kids under five have their hunt at school during the week, and the older ones come to this one. The first year the hunts were combined and… um, it didn’t go so well.” </p><p>“Who knew kids were so competitive,” Gwen muttered. “It was tantrum central. Give me a week’s shifts at The Bitch any day.” </p><p>Yukio winced in shared remembrance. “Anyway,” she moved on brightly. “The point is we learned. And now have more eggs. Which means we’ve got a busy time ahead hiding them all!” </p><p>Peter squared his shoulders. “What do you want us to do?”  </p><p>The park’s borders marked the limits of the hunting ground, as it were, but otherwise everything in it was fair game. There needed to be varying levels of egg-difficulty, as Yukio put it, to cater to the spread of ages and abilities of the children.  </p><p>“Dibs on the play-park!” Wade shouted, and took off in an ungainly sprint towards the sectioned off area with the large jungle gym.  </p><p>“Wade! Come back here!” Gwen yelled after him. “You don’t even have any eggs!” </p><p>“Um. I’ll go...and take him some.” Peter reached down for one of the bags of coloured eggs.  </p><p>“Sorry, Peter,” Gwen turned to him. “He’s probably going to spend the whole time playing on the swings and make you do it all.” </p><p>Peter gave a light shrug. “I don’t mind. I volunteered to be here, after all.” </p><p>“So did he!” Gwen pointed out as she and Yukio took their own share of the eggs and headed in the direction of the other side of the park, near the trees and lake.  </p><p>Peter made his way over to Wade at a leisurely pace, diligently dropping eggs every few metres into tufts of grass and along the edges of the fence of the play-park, where Wade, indeed, was on the swings. He was draped on his stomach over the seat, the white pom-pom of his costume tail stuck up in the air as he used his hands and feet to propel himself backwards and forwards. </p><p>Peter leaned casually against the metal frame of the swingset. “I’ve never seen that particular method of swinging before; how’s it working for you?” </p><p>Wade craned his neck to look at Peter over his shoulder. “You just haven’t been looking at the right kind of swings,” he leered.  </p><p>With a roll of his eyes, Peter reached out and grabbed the chain of Wade’s swing as he reached the top of his arc, putting some of his super-strength into his grip and stopping it dead in its tracks. With a startled yelp, Wade tumbled off head over heels, landing hard on his back on the coloured tarmac.  </p><p>“Meanie,” he pouted.  </p><p>“Only when you deserve it,” Peter replied unsympathetically, releasing the swing.  </p><p>Wade had to duck down to avoid being knocked on the head. It didn’t stop him from letting out a longing sigh. “I’d totally sign up to be your sub…” </p><p>Snorting softly and choosing to ignore him, because that was often the best approach to Wade, Peter dropped a few eggs on the ground beside him. “Hop to, Bunny.” </p><p>The play-park was a good spot for hiding the eggs, and Peter made sure to scatter them generously in all the nooks and crannies available, burying them in the sand pit, tucking them under the roundabout and see-saw, and perching them on top of the monkey bars. It wasn’t meant to be too difficult; the play-park was near to the meeting point, and would be used for the younger children, so it was best to make the eggs easily accessible.  </p><p>His bag empty, Peter looked around for Wade, and found him on the jungle gym, sitting at the top of the slide.  </p><p>“Come on, Petey!” he pleaded. “Let’s go down the slide together?” </p><p>“The kids are going to arrive any minute!” Peter argued.  </p><p>“Then let’s make it quick.” Wade winked. “Pleeeease?” </p><p>Peter hesitated for a moment longer, but he could see Gwen and Yukio weren’t back yet, and he had finished with his eggs… so indulging Wade for a few minutes wouldn’t harm anyone. He dropped his bag to the ground and quickly made his way to Wade. He told himself using the pole to climb up to the platform was for the sake of expediency, but there was some showing off too. Wade’s appreciative wolf-whistle as his shirt slid up to expose a stripe of skin along his pale stomach was quite a boost to his self-esteem.  </p><p>“Tease,” Wade muttered as Peter stepped up to his side, and well, fair.   </p><p>“How do you want to do this?” Peter inspected the slide, trying to work out if it was even wide enough for them to go down. Probably only <em> just.  </em></p><p>“Any way. <em> Every </em> way,” Wade replied throatily. He’d abandoned his bunny gloves at some point, and now used his finger to hook Peter’s belt loop, drawing him in closer. “Come sit on DP’s lap.” </p><p>“You’re not Santa any more,” Peter reminded him with a laugh. He maneuvered under the bar at the top of the slide and paused long enough to nudge Wade’s legs apart, then gingerly lowered himself into the space in front of him. </p><p>“I said ‘<em> lap </em>’,” Wade grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist nonetheless, tucking himself tight against his back. He was large and warm, and Peter allowed himself to press back against his broad chest, resting his hands on each of Wade’s thighs.  </p><p>“Ready?” Wade asked.  </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Wade pushed off with gusto; Peter whooped as they slid down the metal shute, accompanied by Wade’s childish “Weeeee!” in his ear. They reached the bottom within seconds — it wasn’t exactly a large slide, and certainly not one made for the momentum of two grown men — and slid off the end in a tangle of arms and legs.  </p><p>Peter laughed as he extricated himself, and got to his feet. “Happy now?” </p><p>“Yes!” Wade scrambled up next to him and began patting his butt — then let out a high-pitched scream. “My cotton-tail!” </p><p>“What?”  </p><p>Wade was already turning round to look back at the slide, and Peter started laughing again at the sight of Wade’s ass — the costume had split right down his crack, although luckily the red leather beneath was unscathed. Peter followed his gaze, where he could see Wade’s white pom-pom tail caught in a metal seam.  </p><p>“Nooo, it’s a disaster!” Wade whined. “Quick, Petey, do you have a needle and thread?” </p><p>Shaking his head, Peter told him, “Wade, that whole costume was a disaster. Think of this as a stroke of luck.”  </p><p>The next stroke of luck was Gwen and Yukio’s return, and Peter left Wade to his lamentations to see if they needed him for any more last minute prep. When Wade rejoined the group, the white mascot suit was nowhere in sight.  </p><p>“Don’t say a word,” Wade warned as Gwen opened her mouth. </p><p>She mimed zipping her lips, although her eyes were bright and she was fighting a smile.  </p><p>“Poor Wade,” Yukio gave him a hug.  </p><p>“‘Poor Wade’ enough to give me the onesie?” Wade asked hopefully.  </p><p>“Nope!” Yukio refused cheerfully.  </p><p>Just before midday, the children started to arrive. They gathered around Yukio and Gwen near the picnic table, while their parents and guardians formed small groups a short distance away. There was more than one costume and Easter themed accessory, and their excitable chatter and laughter filled the space.  </p><p>Peter had intended to stay out of the way — he still wasn’t that well-known in town after all — but Wade had other ideas, dragging him over to one of the groups. There was a couple that Peter didn’t recognise, a tall black man and a shorter, curvier woman, and standing with them —  </p><p>“Ellie-Bellie!” Wade shouted as he rushed over.  </p><p>“Daddy!”  </p><p>Ellie ran forward to meet them, and Peter watched as Wade scooped her up and swung her around several times. When they came to a stop, Wade continued to hold her against his hip. She looked like the photo Wade had shown him, perhaps a little older, her hair slightly shorter but just as wavy; she was wearing purple jeans and a yellow hoodie with a sequin baby chick on the front, and a headband with home-made paper bunny ears. Her grin revealed a missing tooth.  </p><p>“You said you were gonna dress up!” she complained to Wade.  </p><p>He lowered his head apologetically. “I knoooow! Things happened!” </p><p>“Well, you can’t be the Easter Bunny without <em> something. </em>” Ellie stated, and promptly removed her own ears and slipped them onto his head. “There.” </p><p>“Oh-my-god — Peter, Peter look!” </p><p>Peter had held back during Wade and Ellie’s exuberant reunion, but now came forward. “Much better,” he praised, then turned to Ellie. “Hi Ellie,” he greeted with a smile. “I’m Peter, one of your dad’s friends. He’s told me a lot about you.” </p><p>“Hello.” Ellie regarded him with a serious expression; it felt like she was judging him, and Peter tried not to squirm. Finally, she said, “My dad like-likes you.” </p><p>“Ellie!” Wade choked out and twisted around so that his body was between Ellie and Peter. He began furiously whispering, and Peter caught a hushed “<em> We talked about this </em>” before he was distracted by the couple who chose that moment to approach.  </p><p>“Peter, did I hear?” The woman asked, clear amusement in her brown eyes. “I’m Emily Preston, and this is my husband Terry. We’re Ellie’s foster parents.” </p><p>“Hi, nice to finally meet you,” Peter fell back on manners. “Wade, ah, has mentioned you, but I never actually learned your names,” he admitted.  </p><p>Terry Preston grunted softly. “Wilson tries not to go into too much detail about us — for Ellie’s sake. But seems he’s told you some.” </p><p>“You must be close,” Emily commented, and there was a hint of curiosity there.  </p><p>Peter wasn’t sure what Wade’s relationship with the Prestons was, but it seemed friendly — enough for Wade to be able to see his daughter and be involved in her life, and make cupcakes for her sleepovers, he remembered — but he wasn’t about to go revealing things he shouldn’t, or announcing a connection that he and Wade had yet to actually name.  </p><p>“We’re friends,” he said honestly. “I...guess we’re seeing if we’re more.” </p><p>Emily looked genuinely pleased. “Good on you,” she said encouragingly. “Wade’s got a good heart.” </p><p>“Just needs a bit of guidance every now and then,” Terry cautioned, although it didn’t seem like he was warning Peter away.  </p><p>“Thanks…” Peter said a little awkwardly, unsure what the correct response was to his crush’s child’s co-parents giving relationship advice. </p><p>He was grateful that Wade and Ellie returned a moment later. She was no longer being carried, and stood before Peter with her hands tucked into her jeans. </p><p>“Daddy says I need to apologise for possibly making you uncomfortable,” she repeated a clearly pre-determined message. She glanced over her shoulder and Wade nodded approvingly. “He said that it’s adult stuff that only you and he should talk about, and that it was wrong of me to get involved.” </p><p>“Hey, now — ” Peter started to protest, because he didn’t spend a lot of time with kids, but that was pretty harsh of Wade, and really, any potential relationship would involve Ellie whether they liked it or not.  </p><p>He was about to say something to that effect, when Ellie proceeded to roll her eyes in the exasperated and all-knowing way only a pre-teen could manage, and continued glibly, “ — which is completely silly, if you ask me, and I think you <em> should </em>, because Daddy knows he can be a bit shy and overthink these things and then he gets sad about it, and really, I know a lot more about Daddy than you, and can tell what’ll be good for him a lot better than he can — ” </p><p>“<em> Ellie! </em>” Wade screeched behind her, and tried to cover her mouth with his hands.  </p><p>She deftly side-stepped and ended with, “Anyway, I <em> am </em> sorry if you’re upset, but if you’re going to hang around Daddy it’s probably a good idea to get used to it, because he’s not very good at hiding when he likes someone.” </p><p>“Um.” Peter cleared his throat as his frazzled brain tried to come up with something to say to <em> that. </em> Was this normal for kids? Or was Ellie just particularly astute and intelligent? Peter didn’t really know enough kids to be able to tell. “I...kind of like-like your dad, too.” </p><p>Ellie narrowed her eyes slightly as she thought about his response, and gave a decisive nod. “All right.” </p><p>“How about that Egg Hunt then?!” Wade half-yelled into the ensuing silence in a desperate change of topic. “Ellie, are you teaming up with anyone?” </p><p>“Sophie asked me to collect eggs with her,” Ellie informed him. “She’s pretty good, I think.” </p><p>“I saw her arrive with her big sister a little while ago,” Emily mentioned. “It looks like they might be starting soon, so probably a good idea to go find her and collect your buckets.” </p><p>Wade knelt down before Ellie and checked her shoe-laces, then adjusted the ties of her hoodie. “If Sophie’s holding you back, don’t feel bad about ditching her,” he advised in a low tone. “And if it gets to the end and you don’t have enough eggs, just give me a sign and I’ll steal some for you.” </p><p>Terry cleared his throat.  </p><p>“ — Is what I might have said at some other time in my life, but that’s <em> not </em> what I’m suggesting, because that would be cheating and cheating is Bad,” he backpedalled swiftly. “It’s not about the winning, or crushing your enemies, or even the chocolate; it’s about the Magic of Friendship, and we all know who the best Pony is right?” </p><p>“Rainbow Dash,” Ellie intoned.  </p><p>“R — What? No! It’s clearly Pinky-Pie!” Wade threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t even know you any more.” </p><p>“Ellie, dear, you go have fun,” Emily interrupted firmly, and brushed her hand over Ellie’s hair. “Your pop and I will wait with the other parents until you’re finished, and we’ll go for lunch afterwards.” </p><p>“Okay!” With a wave, Ellie darted off towards the other children.  </p><p>“Remember the secret signal!” Wade shouted after her. “I got your back!” </p><p>“Secret signal?” Gwen had snuck up without anyone noticing, and now regarded Wade with suspicion. “You wouldn’t be playing favourites, now would you?” </p><p>“Of course not! Swear on my life!” Wade promised innocently, and Peter had to laugh at how unconvincing such a promise was — and how everyone here knew it.  </p><p>Gwen shook her head. “Just...come on. We’re about to start.” </p><p>They said temporary good-byes to the Prestons, and followed Gwen back to the picnic table. Somehow, in their short absence, Yukio had managed to arrange all the kids into rows based on age, supplied them all with buckets to collect the eggs, and set up the ribbon “start line”. Now she stood beside it with a whistle in her hand.  </p><p>“Is everyone excited?” She asked the children in her best Kids’ TV host impression.  </p><p>“Yes!” A ragtag cheer sounded.  </p><p>“First group, on your marks!” She called, and the children squirmed in place. The youngest group at the front adopted expressions of intense concentration, and their parents called encouragement from the sides, many of them already in place to help their kids. “Get ready! Get Set!” </p><p>The shrill sound of the whistle pierced the air, the ribbon dropped, and Wade, Gwen and Peter cried “Go!”  </p><p>Shrieking children scattered in all directions at a sprint, and the second group shuffled up to the start line to wait the thirty seconds until they too could join the hunt. The process repeated three more times until all the children were let loose, and Peter spent a moment watching them run back and forth across the field. He’d seen Ellie and her friend shoot off during the third wave.  </p><p>“Right, all. Put on your responsible adult hats. I know there’s a lot of parents around, so it makes supervising this lot a bit easier, but we still need to be on hand,” Gwen took charge. “Yukio, you wanna do the younger kids?”  </p><p>“Sure thing!” </p><p>“You,” Gwen pointed at Wade, “Picnic table duty.” </p><p>“Aww…” He slumped down on the wooden seat.  </p><p>“You,” she turned to Peter, her lips twitching. “Wade-watch.” </p><p>“How did I know?” Peter feigned disappointment.  </p><p>“I’m going to circle between the kids,” she announced. “Peter, Wade — can you make sure the drinks and snacks are ready for when the hunt ends? The younger ones tend to get bored after twenty mins or so. The older ones sometimes keep going for a bit longer, although we’ll try to wrap it all up in forty-five, max.” </p><p>Peter had seen cartons of juice and dried fruit and nut mix bags in one of the boxes earlier, and as the girls headed off, he began taking them out and lining them up on one of the tables.  </p><p>Wade, meanwhile, settled himself cross-legged on the grass and pulled something out from one of his utility pouches.  </p><p>“Is that...a genuine Game Boy?” Peter asked, glancing over.  </p><p>“Yup!” Wade flicked the switch on the side, and the device started up with a very recognisable ding. “Might as well kill some time grinding; wanna evolve my Charmander soon.” </p><p>“Wait. You’re playing Pokemon?” Peter’s lips quirked in amusement. It wasn’t a franchise Peter had kept up with over the years, but even he’d seen the hype surrounding the latest app. “Why not just play on Pokémon Go? I’m sure it’s much easier these days…” </p><p>Wade let out a derisive snort. “What, and be subjected to the travesties they’re calling Pokémon these days? Uh uh. I’ll stick with my Gen I.”  </p><p>“Surely they can’t all be that bad…” Peter teased. He’d learnt that Wade was generally easy-going and enthusiastic about most things, but every so often would develop an irrational hatred towards a particular person or thing; so far, James Corden, synthetic pillows, and cows were on the list, although the last Wade claimed was more phobia than hate.  </p><p>“Peter. There is a keychain Pokémon. A <em> keychain </em>.”  </p><p>Wade sounded so appalled that Peter had to laugh. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Bet you can name at least <em> one </em> new one you like.” </p><p>Wade was silent for a moment as he gave the matter serious thought. “Fine. Gen II was acceptable, and I’ll...concede that they did good with all the Eeveelutions. But that’s <em> it </em>.” </p><p>“All right, all right,” Peter gave in. He carried on laying out the snacks while Wade played, and when he was done, perched on the table beside him and leaned against his shoulder to watch.  </p><p>It was twenty minutes into the hunt, about the time Gwen had said the younger children would start returning, that an interruption appeared in the form of a panicked young boy.  </p><p>“DP!” he called urgently as he ran up to them, small chest heaving with breath and his black-framed glasses sliding off the end of his nose. “Rupert needs help!” </p><p>The Gameboy was discarded immediately, and Wade’s spine straightened even as his eyes narrowed; it was jarring just how quickly he could switch between nonchalance and deadly seriousness.  </p><p>“What’s happened?” he asked firmly.  </p><p>“Rupert’s stuck in a tree!” The boy wailed as if the world were ending.  </p><p>“Is he hurt?”  </p><p>“No…” he admitted. “Just stuck.” </p><p>Some of Wade’s tension eased, and he clambered slowly to his feet. “All right, Ciaran, let’s go see what’s up, and well… get Rupert down.” </p><p>“I’ll go,” Peter suddenly offered. He gave a small shrug at Wade’s curious glance. “It’ll be better if you stay here — you’re more recognisable, and people know you. I can handle the tree.” </p><p>Peter waited as Wade seemed to consider his suggestion. He hoped the other man wouldn’t question him too much; he didn’t know how he’d explain his insistence on going, and going <em> alone </em> — but well, if anyone was suited to tree-rescue duty, it would be the former Spider-Man.  </p><p>“You sure?” Wade finally asked.  </p><p>“Yes,” Peter’s reply was confident.  </p><p>“Well, if you got this…” Wade eased back down to the grass. “Yell if you need me...or y’know, you get stuck too.” </p><p>“Very funny,” he said, and turned to the small boy waiting impatiently beside him. “Ciaran, right? How about you lead the way.” </p><p>Ciaran was off in a flash and Peter had to jog to keep up as they crossed over the park to the side where Gwen and Yukio had hidden the eggs. He could see children still searching in and around the bandstand, and others who’d gotten distracted feeding the ducks in the pond. As they reached the edge of the small thicket of trees, Ciaran finally slowed down, ducking under a few low branches as he squirrelled his way deeper.  </p><p>Peter had a bit more difficulty following, but eventually came to a small clear area; he found Ciaran pointing up into a large-ish tree where the unfortunate Rupert was several metres off the ground, clinging onto the trunk and wedged between several branches. One of his sneakers was lying at the foot of the tree.  </p><p>“Hi Rupert, how’re you doing?” It was easy to fall into the comforting, friendly tone he’d cultivated during his hero stint. “My name’s Peter and I’m going to get you out of there, okay?”  </p><p>Rupert didn’t seem able to answer, but Peter saw his head move in a faint nodding movement.  </p><p>He took a quick moment to assess the tree; the small branches that Rupert had clearly used to climb weren’t anywhere strong enough to hold Peter’s weight, and Rupert seemed too scared to move let alone climb down himself. Still, Peter had expected this.  </p><p>“Stay here, please, Ciaran,” he instructed. </p><p>“‘Kay…” </p><p>He circled the tree until he was on the other side from the young boy and closer to Rupert.  </p><p>“I’m coming up, Rupert, just hang tight,” he called, and stepped up to the tree. Not wanting to prolong Rupert’s distress any longer, Peter bent his knees and kicked up into a jump that took him halfway the distance between them, quickly sticking to the trunk with both hands and feet. It was barely any effort at all, no matter how long it had been since he’d properly used his powers, and he quickly crawled the rest of the way.  </p><p>“Hey Rupert, you’ve been really brave so far,” he told the boy, whose eyes were squeezed firmly shut. “I’m gonna ask you to trust me just a little bit more now and grab hold of me. We can do one arm at a time, okay? Just put them round my neck; you think you can do that?” </p><p>One tightly squeezed eye parted, and Rupert gave him a slightly apprehensive look, but mumbled, “I think so.” </p><p>“Good lad,” Peter praised. Feet firmly planted against the tree and a smaller branch, he freed his hands and reached for Rupert — guiding first his left and then his right arm around his neck, and then helping slip his legs out from where they’d been stuck, and around his waist. “Holding on tight?”  </p><p>Rupert’s tuft of ginger hair brushed against Peter’s chin as he nodded again.  </p><p>Webs would have made for a smoother descent, but Peter had put away his web-shooters years ago, and made do with using his feet and one hand to lower himself down the tree, the other arm keeping Rupert tucked securely against him. Once down, he carried Rupert back to an anxiously waiting Ciaran before he lowered into a crouch and let Rupert slide off and onto his own feet.  </p><p>“You all right?” Peter asked, giving the boy a quick once-over to make sure there were no obvious injuries. Aside from a leaf in his hair and a smudge of dirt on his elbow, he seemed physically unharmed, and now that he was on solid ground again, his earlier fear was fast abating, replaced by embarrassment.  </p><p>“I’m sorry for causing trouble,” he mumbled.  </p><p>“The important thing is you’re not hurt, so no harm done, yeah?” Peter kept his tone light and non-judgemental. “Why were you climbing the tree?” </p><p>“We thought we saw an egg,” Ciaran piped up.  </p><p>Peter glanced up at the tree. “I mean, there’s an egg all right, but I think it’s an actual bird egg, so probably best to leave it be,” he said ruefully.  </p><p>It wasn’t the worst thing Peter had seen teenage boys get up to — he’d certainly got into worse scrapes growing up — and there was no need to scold them overmuch. “You ready to head back?” </p><p>Both boys’ faces fell rather comically. “But it’s not over yet!” Rupert protested.  </p><p>“We can still get more eggs!” Ciaran agreed, nodding vigorously.  </p><p>“All right. But no more climbing trees,” Peter warned them. He didn’t even get a response.  </p><p>“I got your shoe,” Ciaran held out the lost sneaker. Rupert accepted it and quickly shoved his foot back into it, and then they were off, trampling through the bushes and back towards the hunt, calling out to each other possible locations for eggs.   </p><p>How quickly minor dramas were forgotten in the face of chocolate.  </p><p>With a wry smile, Peter straightened, and turned to leave as well —  </p><p>And froze.  </p><p>Wade stood a short distance away with his mask removed, his bright blue eyes fixed on Peter, intent and scrutinising.  </p><p>Body tingling with sudden anxiety, Peter swallowed thickly. “I thought you were going to stay at the meeting point?” he asked in a carefully level voice.  </p><p>“Thought you might need a hand,” Wade replied in the same steady tone. His eyes flicked to the tree, then back to Peter. “I guess I thought wrong.” </p><p>The question was on the tip of his tongue — <em> how much did you see? </em> And yet he was afraid to ask, because then the truth was in the open; that there <em> was </em> something to see, and Wade would demand answers — because everyone always did — and Peter would lie, because that’s what <em> he </em> always did, and this fragile thing they were building would end before it had even properly begun. </p><p>Indecision and uncertainty gripped him, kept him still, kept him silent. He couldn’t look away from Wade, his slow blinks, the way his cheek rippled, as if he were chewing on the inside of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped a random rhythm against his stomach. After several drawn-out moments, his body seemed to give an all-over shudder and he took a step back.  </p><p>“The young’uns should be about done. If we hurry we’ll make it back for the prize-giving.” </p><p>Surprise jolted through Peter and had him blurting out, “That’s all you’re going to say?” before he’d even thought it through. He bit his lip. “I mean…” </p><p>Wade cocked his head to the side, then crossed the distance between them in a few long strides. His smile was surprisingly gentle as he came to stand in front of Peter. After a brief moment of hesitation, he ran his hand down Peter’s arm, brushing against his sweaty palm with his leather glove, and linked their fingers.  </p><p>“Petey…” He sighed softly. “You waited and let me show myself when I was ready — ” He lifted their joined hands and indicated his face. “ — so of course I’m gonna wait until <em> you’re </em> ready.” </p><p>“Even...even if it takes a while?” Peter whispered, because the fear and shame of his past was linked so intricately to his powers, that the thought of divulging his secrets was akin to exposing the rawest parts of himself. “Even if it’s never?” </p><p>“Even then,” Wade promised. </p><p>Grateful and incredulous at this kind, silly, unbelievable man — who showed such understanding and acceptance — Peter did the only thing he could think of: he kissed him.  </p><p>He felt Wade’s sudden inhale, and then scarred lips were pressing against his even as strong arms circled Peter’s back, drawing him against the warmth of Wade’s body, the solid planes of his leather-covered chest. Peter moaned softly, and his fingers curled into the belt at Wade’s waist, gripping tightly and steadying him as he leaned into Wade.  </p><p>They parted, a brief moment where their gasps mingled and their breath wafted warm over their cheeks. Wade’s eyes pierced into his own, the bright blue tinged with something very much like awe, and then Wade groaned his name and swooped in, sealing their lips once more. His mouth moved over Peter’s softly, reverently —  he kissed as if they had all the time in the world to learn each other, and they did, in this very moment only they mattered, only <em> this </em> mattered.  </p><p>Only Peter mattered.  </p><p>With his eyes closed, his senses were heightened, and his mouth felt over sensitive and bruised — from the slight roughness of Wade’s scars which caught against his delicate skin, from the scrape of Wade’s teeth as he suckled on his lower lip — but Peter couldn’t stop, didn’t want to; no, <em> he wanted more </em>.  </p><p>Surging to his toes, his tongue striped warm and wet over Wade’s lips — and Wade responded whole-heartedly, opening in clear invitation. The kiss deepened in a burst of flavour and desire like the soft glow of a fire, flickering spears of heat low in his belly that threatened to consume him if he just gave himself to it. </p><p>Peter didn’t know how long they were lost in each other, but eventually they drew apart — not far, no, for Peter’s hands rested against Wade’s chest, and Wade’s large palms cupped his flushed cheeks, their foreheads resting gently against each other.  </p><p>“Wow,” Wade breathed out, his eyes a little dazed.  </p><p>Peter lowered his eyes in embarrassment, but Wade let out a little whine. “No, don’t… I like looking at you.” </p><p>Peter met his gaze again, and Wade’s lips curled up into a pleased little smile. “There you are.”  </p><p>“Here I am,” Peter rasped, his throat somewhat dry.  </p><p>Wade continued to stare, and though Peter was a little uncomfortable at being the object of such intense focus, there was something heady about it too. He marvelled at the dichotomy of it; how Wade was both exhilarating and comforting, how he sent his senses tingling, then soothed them.  </p><p>Wade’s leather-covered finger stroked softly down the side of Peter’s face, and his voice was low and serious as he whispered, “I really like-like you, Peter.” </p><p>Peter swallowed, answered a touch tremulously, “Me too.” </p><p>The rest of the world filtered in bit by bit; the play of light and shadow between the leaves of the trees above them; a cool breeze on the back of his neck; the sound of raised voices in the distance.  </p><p>“The hunt’s ending soon,” Peter realised with dismay, because they would have to leave here, rejoin the others, and put this moment behind them. </p><p>“Fuck them,” Wade declared vehemently, still nuzzling against Peter’s temple. “Let’s go somewhere.” </p><p>It was flattering that Wade was so invested in this, and it was tempting to ignore real life and responsibilities, but Peter would always be the voice of reason. “Ellie,” he reminded him.  </p><p>Wade froze for a split second, and then let loose a long-drawn out sigh of such disappointment that Peter’s lips twitched in suppressed laughter. Wade’s arms tightened briefly, as if he were trying to squeeze in every last second before he had to release him. “Tell me we can do this again.”  </p><p>“I really want to,” Peter confessed.  </p><p>“Deal. Done. No take-backsies.” With extreme reluctance, Wade withdrew. Peter missed his touch almost immediately, and he tucked his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out again.  </p><p>It had been so long, he’d forgotten what this felt like — the beginning of a relationship when everything was new and exciting, and he yearned for closeness.  </p><p>Wade slipped his mask back on over his face, tucking it into the collar of his suit. He  straightened his shoulders like a soldier going off to battle and shot Peter a look that was definitely more grim than the situation called for. “Next time,” he promised, his voice heavy with intention.  </p><p>“We need to go.” Peter hurried past the other man before he changed his mind.  </p><p>They were only slightly late to the prize-giving. Gwen raised her eyebrow questioningly as they shuffled in at the back of the crowd, but was quickly distracted by the group of eager, over-energised children yelling out totals and clamouring for their rewards. </p><p>Ellie did not win first place, but she and Sophie came third, and Wade was the picture of a proud and doting father — cheering and clapping loud enough to deafen all those around him — as they accepted their prizes.  </p><p>Ellie came racing over with her arms in the air, holding aloft what looked like a fuzzy yellow ball, but on closer inspection turned out to be a chick plushie. “I’m calling him Yellow!” she announced, then peered up at the Prestons. “Do you think I could have a real chick someday?” </p><p>“Of cours — ” Wade started to say, but was cut off by Emily clearing her throat pointedly.  </p><p>“Your mom and I will think about it,” Terry corrected, evading like all experienced parents. “What do you fancy for lunch then, kiddo?” </p><p>“Pizza!” Ellie decided, while Wade shouted, “Tacos!” </p><p>As father and daughter began to argue over their choice of lunch venue, Emily turned to Peter.  </p><p>“You’re more than welcome to join us.” </p><p>Peter was already shaking his head. “I’m going to help the others clear up,” he excused himself, “and May’s expecting me back home.” </p><p>It wasn’t a lie, exactly; she was expecting him — but not for a good few hours yet.  </p><p>But Peter was feeling just a bit overcome by the events of today; not necessarily in a bad way, but enough that he wasn’t sure he could concentrate on social niceties with the Prestons and Ellie. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just be distracted by Wade. </p><p>“You sure, Petey?” </p><p>Wade and Ellie had finished their bickering, and Ellie was sitting on his shoulders, her new plush toy resting on the top of his head. It was an improvement on the mascot mask, at least. Wade sounded casual, but Peter could hear the hint of concern in his words.  </p><p>He offered a reassuring smile. “Next time,” he said, and knew Wade would understand the double meaning behind the repeated words.  </p><p>Wade nodded sharply, and Peter offered his goodbyes before stepping away.  </p><p>As the small group got swallowed up in the crowd, he heard Emily ask, “So what did you choose?” </p><p>“Pizza!” It was said in unison, although Ellie’s enthusiasm far outweighed Wade’s more resigned reply.  </p><p>Peter huffed a laugh. Wade was far too generous and good, and just for now, just a little, he had turned some of that heart towards Peter.  </p><p>And Peter could only hope and do everything he could not to break it.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">May's Birthday</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It was just after midnight, and Kendall Square was all but empty; only a few lights glowed bright in the tall buildings that surrounded the small open space, and the only people were those huddled in doorways sneaking a cigarette, and a few weary souls trekking back to their residences.  </p><p>Well, and Peter, sitting on a bench and watching the water trickle and spurt in the Earth Sphere fountain in the middle of the quad.  </p><p>He’d only come out for a breather, a few minutes of fresh air after an all day stint in the science lab; then he’d take to his bed for whatever sleep he could grab before repeating the same tomorrow.  </p><p>It had not been an easy month. Several of the professors had set midterms in the same week, and Peter was swamped with holding extra hours tutorial sessions, grading papers, and prepping the exam materials. He’d also been inundated with application forms and leaflets about job offers for when he graduated, and his personal tutor had asked him to look over and consider what he might want to choose. On top of that, a bug in his software codes had corrupted several weeks of his own graduate research, and he was spending all the hours he had trying to recover his data, and correct the issue before his next review meeting with the professor.  </p><p>He was, to put it mildly, feeling overwrought and exhausted.  </p><p>Closing his eyes with a tired sigh, he slumped down, and let his head fall into his hands. It was warm enough now, even in the early hours of the night, that he only wore a sweater and jeans. His backpack sat between his legs, filled with notebooks and papers and a slightly crumpled pack of instant noodles, which had been his dinner for the last week, as he’d been too busy and tired to properly cook.  </p><p>May would have berated him for not looking after himself if she’d known, but Peter had hardly managed to speak to her this last week. He’d planned to call her on her birthday — </p><p>A niggling thought struck him, and he fumbled into his pocket to retrieve his phone, unlocking it with his thumb and peering at the date.  </p><p>“Fuck,” he swore, guilt crawling up his throat.  </p><p>He’d known her birthday was this week, had even made a mental note to buy her something and have it shipped, because he wasn’t going to be able to make it to her any time soon. And yet...the days had blurred, and it was the 5th, it was nearing 1 a.m., and he’d not even bought a card.  </p><p>Rationally, he knew May would understand; she’d always pushed and encouraged his academia, and a present a day late was a small thing compared to his doctorate. </p><p>And yet, here and now, such a small thing became an insurmountable failure, and Peter felt very despondent with the weight of it all.  </p><p>He startled as the phone in his hand buzzed, wondering who would be messaging him at this hour — but then realised it could only be one person. </p><p>He flicked into his messages to see:  <em> &gt;&gt; Thinking of u bby boy Xx  </em></p><p>The words made him smile, even as his heart clenched. He’d barely been in contact with Wade either, and always in response to Wade reaching out first. It was hardly a promising start to a relationship… </p><p>But he didn’t exactly have a lot of experience. As a teenager he’d been awkward, and not very well liked by his peers. Questioning his preferences had also not induced him to try and make any connections, especially as it was liable to turn him into more of a social pariah than Flash had managed already.  </p><p>As an undergrad, he’d gained a little more confidence, enough to go on a few dates with a girl he’d met at a Freshers’ event, although it had fizzled out pretty quickly when she’d realised he had no interest in sex and the parties that everyone else seemed to view as the staple of uni life. His studies had taken priority, and it had been a while until he’d been able to think about relationships again, this time with another boy in his class. That had lasted a bit longer, several months in fact, enough to turn physical. But then the other guy had dropped out, and that had been that.  </p><p>In the last few years he’d only been on a few dates, a few one-night stands, and between Spider-Man, his studies, and then Ben — they had been few and far between.  </p><p>Nothing significant, nothing notable enough to give Peter hope that he wasn’t as useless at romance as he feared.  </p><p>Not enough to think he had anything to really offer.  </p><p>His finger hovered over the reply icon, and his smile dimmed.  </p><p>Wade could do so much better... </p><p>And yet, he liked Peter — Peter was sure of it. Wade seemed to enjoy his company, enjoyed kissing him, certainly. He was still reaching out to him, no matter how bad Peter was at responding.  </p><p>He accepted that Peter had secrets.  </p><p>As for Peter, he liked Wade too, he wanted him: silliness and history and scars and all.  </p><p><em> Isn’t that enough to start with? </em>a desperate part of him asked, tired and alone and miserable on a bench on campus in the middle of the night. </p><p>The truth was, he missed Wade.  </p><p>When his finger tapped his phone, it wasn’t on the reply icon he had intended to press. The dial tone of an outgoing phone call sounded loud to his ears, and he huddled down in his seat, wondering what would be worse — Wade answering, or not.  </p><p>He didn’t have long to contemplate; his call was answered within seconds, which made sense, because Wade had just texted, and probably had his phone on him. </p><p>“Petey!” Wade sounded surprised, although not disappointed to hear from him despite the fact they’d never called each other before.  </p><p>“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” Peter mumbled. He was the one who’d called, but there wasn’t any real purpose behind it, other than wanting to hear his voice.  </p><p>“I always have time for you!” Wade reassured him immediately. “Super-duper healing means sleep is a choice, not a necessity!”  </p><p>Peter huffed a wry laugh. He had heightened healing, sure, but not enough that he could go without <em> some </em> sleep, although he had learned to cope with far less than the average person. Even if it took its toll on his body’s metabolism. “I could do with a bit of that right now.” </p><p>“What even time is i — ” He cut off, as if checking a clock. “Fuck, Peter, it’s the dead of night! Why aren’t you getting your — admittedly not needed because you’re a hot patootie always — beauty sleep?” </p><p>Peter rubbed at his closed eyes with the hand not holding the phone. “I was on my way, but then I just...wanted to call you.” </p><p>“Not that I’m not pleased to hear from you…” Wade paused for a moment, and there was an edge of worry in his voice as he asked, “Is something wrong?” </p><p><em> Everything it seems </em>, Peter wanted to confess, but instead said, “No, not really…” </p><p>He sounded unconvincing to his own ears, and Wade could surely pick up on the lie — confirmed a moment later when there was the abrupt sound of movement on Wade’s end of the line.  </p><p>“Tell me where you are,” he demanded. “I’ll be there in an hour. Less than. Dom owes me a favour, I’m sure I can ask to borrow the Little Bird ‘copter…” </p><p>“What? No, no!” Peter spluttered in alarm at the thought of Wade arriving in the Square in an army helicopter and abseiling down just to reach him — like a leather-clad hero coming to rescue a damsel in distress. Although, he couldn’t help the amusement and slight thrill the thought caused — god, he really needed sleep.  “I’m fine. Really.” </p><p>“You don’t sound it,” Wade said quietly. His tone softened even further, coaxingly. “Talk to me, baby boy.” </p><p>Warmth and affection coiled within Peter. This was what he’d needed, and what Wade so willingly offered. He could share his weakness and uncertainty, and Wade would accept it and give his own strength to hold him up until he could stand alone again, and he would not think any less of him.  </p><p>His eyes prickled with emotion and he took a trembling breath. “Things have just been a bit difficult lately…” he began, and once he started, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, and Wade, Wade simply listened.   </p><p>He was quiet as Peter rambled about his studies and his corrupted code, the students who demanded so much of his time when he didn’t have enough to give, his fears of whether he could finish his degree and what he wanted to do next. He made soft sounds of distress as Peter admitted to feeling so physically and mentally drained he was forgetting to eat and not sleeping enough. His concern was palpable when Peter spoke of his loneliness; of not feeling able to talk to his peers about his concerns, of not wanting to make May worry about him, not after the year she’d had, not with the anniversary of Ben’s death fast approaching.  </p><p>He hadn’t thought he would go further, but when Wade gave a questioning little hum, he found himself speaking of that last year, of watching Ben’s illness worsen, of waiting helplessly for his death, and knowing that there was nothing they could do. He even told him about MJ — not in detail, not the full truth — but the impact of her death, the only friend that Peter had ever really had, and the guilt and responsibility that still sat heavy within him. </p><p>He spoke without interruption, the words flooding from him like a wound being purified, leaving him raw, but healing.  </p><p>And when at last he fell silent, in the hushed aftermath of his spill of emotions and thoughts, he felt closer to Wade than ever, and it didn’t feel wrong. </p><p>“You’re not a failure, Peter,” Wade told him with a conviction that struck Peter to the bone, that he might actually believe.  </p><p>“Even though I forgot May’s birthday and am terrible at replying to your messages?” he gave a watery chuckle.  </p><p>“Even then,” Wade intoned, and it was the quietness of the trees around them again, Wade’s taste on his tongue and desire in his blood, and hope in his heart.  </p><p>“I’m glad I called you,” Peter told him.  </p><p>“I’m glad you called me too,” Wade replied. “You sure you don’t want me to come? Just say the word. Any time.” </p><p>“As tempting as the thought of you arriving in a helicopter to come feed me and tuck me into bed is, it probably won’t go down well with the faculty, students and, let’s face it, police,” Peter teased.  </p><p>“You doubt my connections, Petey-Pie,” Wade objected. “I’m friends with Boston’s Mayor.”  </p><p>“Really?”  </p><p>“...Well, not <em> yet </em>, but trust me, if bribery doesn’t work, two katanas and a gun goes a long way towards it.” </p><p>“Wade. Please don’t threaten the mayor just so you can visit.” There was far too much tenderness in his voice for the subject.  </p><p>“I hope you know I’d do an awful lot for you, Peter.” Wade’s honesty was almost too much.  </p><p>“I’m coming to realise that,” Peter whispered. He sighed deeply and stretched his stiff shoulders. He’d been out for a while now, and though it wasn’t as cold as it had been, it wasn’t a warm night either. “I should go,” he said reluctantly.  </p><p>“Go get your tush to bed,” Wade ordered. “And make sure you eat something — I’m talking full breakfast in the morning: eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, the full kaboodle. I’ll hear about it if you don’t — trust me, I have ways and means — and I won’t hesitate to show up to cook it for you, and you’ve seen my aprons, Petey.” </p><p>“I have indeed,” Peter laughed; the threat was a serious one. “I’ll eat. I promise.” </p><p>“Pics or it didn’t happen,” Wade reminded him.  </p><p>“What will you do now?” Peter asked instead of replying. He’d taken Wade’s word that he wasn’t busy, but he did wonder what he might have interrupted.  </p><p>“I’m just playing Among Us with some peeps. You heard of it?” </p><p>“Vaguely.” He knew it was a game that had become popular recently, but he’d never played.  </p><p>“You might like it,” Wade carried on. “Well. You’d probably like being a crewmate. Bet you’d be a goody two-shoes, do all your tasks in super quick time. Not sure you’d like the imposter killing and sneaking so much.” </p><p>“Sounds more your thing,” Peter agreed, his eyes drooping slightly.   </p><p>“Uh huh. Ooh! Fucking N00BMSTR69’s just come on. He was being an absolute dickwad last time — dude, you don’t metagame or target the randos just because they’re randos! If I get imposter, he’s gonna be the first to die…” Wade muttered darkly.  </p><p>“Good luck with it.” He covered a yawn.  </p><p>“Go on, darlin’, get you to bed,” Wade encouraged.  </p><p>Peter got to his feet, and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. Phone still pressed to his ear, he began walking towards his residential house. He felt lighter, more settled. “Thanks for, y’know…” </p><p><em> Listening to me, liking me, just being you. </em>  </p><p>“Any time, sweetheart.” </p><p>Peter ended the call, and made his way to his room. He undressed quickly and gave his face a rinse and teeth a quick brush before crawling into bed. He’d thought his brain would be too active to drop off, like it had been the last week, but he fell asleep within moments, and stayed that way through the night.  </p><p>The next morning, as he was waiting in line at the cafeteria with an egg and bacon roll on his tray — as close to Wade’s breakfast demands as he was going to get —  he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.  </p><p>When he opened, he found a message from May.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; Petey love, thank you for the flowers, they’re GORGEOUS. You really shouldn’t have! I’ve got the night off and am going out for drinks with the girls, so if you’re going to call, maybe best around 6??? If you’re free that is. I know it’s been busy for you, so no worries if you can’t. Let me know when you’re next coming down, there’s a new Italian Place opened up on Main street — we should go. Love you Xx  </em>
</p><p>Peter stared at the message, and reread it twice before he fully understood it — and what had happened.  </p><p>Wade, of course.  </p><p>He sent May a quick message to say 6 p.m. was good for a chat, and then swiped into his conversation with Wade.  </p><p><b>&lt;&lt; Thank you</b>, he texted, a paltry offering and not nearly enough to express his gratitude and what Wade’s actions meant to him.  </p><p>The reply came a few hours later.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; I got u baby boy &lt;3  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Fourth of July</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>If there was one thing Peter had come to learn about Berry Hill, the town sure knew how to celebrate. July came with warm weather and barbecues, but none so big as the one on the 4th.  </p><p>The main street had been closed off on either end, the street-lights and shop fronts decorated with flags and strung with banners. Food stalls were set up all down the sidewalks — some run by the owners of the town’s restaurants, others from farther afield, leading to a variety of cuisines and more choice than anyone could imagine. In just one corner, Peter could see a paella stand, a vegan burger truck, and a kebab stall.  </p><p>In between were the other pop-ups: handcrafted items and local organic produce, ice creams and craft ales; an information desk advertising county events and businesses. There was an artist selling caricatures, a temporary tattoo stall, and a book exchange; a small carousel had children queuing for a ride, and a clown was selling balloon animals nearby.  </p><p>There were tables and seating throughout the middle of the road, and a large clear area in front of the stage that had been erected to one end of the street, where musicians and bands were playing sets. Yukio had told him that Negasonic Teenage Warhead were on towards the evening, before the fireworks display.  </p><p>It was busy and crowded, but very much like the Easter Hunt, the whole town bubbled with high spirits and friendliness. Walking down the street with May’s arm tucked in his, Peter felt more relaxed and happy than he had in a while.  </p><p>Things had evened out over the last two months; it wasn’t as if Peter hadn’t known it would, but in the middle of it all, it was sometimes difficult to see past it. But, he’d caught up on his lost work, and at Wade’s encouragement, had eventually reached out to Gwen and Miles and May to discuss his future career prospects. May’s advice had been practical and useful, and the others had shared their own similar circumstances and concerns, reminding him that there were people he could seek out when he needed help — and he didn’t have to do everything alone.  </p><p>Still, today was a much-needed breather and Peter was enjoying himself.  </p><p>“What do you fancy next, Peter Rabbit?” May asked, scanning the stalls around them.  </p><p>“How can you still be hungry?” Peter laughed. It was nearing evening, the sun already starting to set in the distance; they’d been here all day and already tried falafels (bit dry, but full of flavour), halloumi and portobello mushroom burgers (amazing), grilled goat curry with jollof rice (May had taken down the recipe, which Peter had promptly confiscated and hidden, because it was far too good to be subjected to May’s culinary attempts), and had just finished off sugar and cinnamon coated churros with chocolate sauce.  </p><p>“It’s not about being hungry — it’s about the <em> experience </em>,” May told him sagely, then promptly burped. “...Okay, let’s wait a little bit,” she conceded. </p><p>In a small town where everyone knew each other, even with a certain amount of strangers coming in from neighbouring towns for the well-known celebration, it was inevitable that they occasionally bumped into recognisable faces.  </p><p>“Madam Boss! And Nephew Peter!” Piotr’s voice boomed loudly across the space, and he turned the wheelchair he was pushing in their direction, much to its occupant’s grumbles. </p><p>“If I’d known there would be dilly-dallying, I’d have asked Marjorie to push me,” Al complained loudly. “If they run out of the Raspberry Ripple flavour before we get there, I’m going to blame you.” </p><p>“It is good thing to say hello to friends, Miss Althea,” Piotr cheerfully ignored her grumpiness as he came to a stop in front of Peter and May. “Do you enjoy celebration of Independence?” </p><p>May had said some of the residents would also be having a day out, and Peter was glad to see Piotr; he felt bad about his previous animosity towards the large Russian, when he’d thought he was involved with Wade. Luckily, Piotr didn’t seem to be aware of his short-lived jealousy, and was as friendly as he’d been at Christmas. </p><p>“It’s a lot busier than I was expecting!” Peter commented. “I am having fun, though, yes.” </p><p>“Good!” He seemed genuinely pleased. “Berry Hill is popular at this time of year.” </p><p>“Everything in hand with you and Marj?” May asked, concerned about her work even on her days off. “You just find me if you need any help.” </p><p>“Absolutely not!” Piotr sounded appalled at the idea of it. “You enjoy family and day off, Madam Boss.” </p><p>May laughed. “If you insist…” </p><p>They shared a few more pleasantries until Al purposefully used her white cane to prod at Piotr’s leg. “Raspberry Ripple!” she hissed.  </p><p>“Yes, yes. We go now.” He waved and steered the wheelchair in the direction of the ice cream.  </p><p>“You really fit in here, you know.” Peter looked at May. It was heartening to see how well-liked and respected she was, and the friends she had made. She seemed less tired too, the wrinkles on her brow and under her eyes a little easier than they had been back in New York.  </p><p>“I really like it here,” she acknowledged, then narrowed her eyes in his direction. “I hear you’ve been making friends of your own.” </p><p>Peter blushed lightly. He’d never explicitly discussed his and Wade’s growing relationship with his aunt, but he hadn’t deliberately hidden it either. Then again, he’d never spoken about <em> any </em> of his relationships to her before, only vague details — he’d always found it difficult to talk about the serious, private things, and he’d always known it had been a bit of a disappointment to her.  </p><p>Maybe it was time to change that, he thought, and quietly disclosed, “A bit more than friends.” </p><p>He could see May’s eyes widen with surprise — more at his openness than what he was admitting <em> to </em>, he knew, and a wide grin flashed across her face before she toned it down.  </p><p>Squeezing his arm with her own, she pressed her head affectionately against his shoulder. “I really hope it works out for you. Have you seen him yet today?” </p><p>“No.” Wade had texted earlier to say he’d be around, but busy, and Peter hadn’t spotted him yet — which, well, was rather unusual for Wade, and Peter tried not to think anything of it. “I’ve been keeping an eye out.” </p><p>“Well, no point in hanging out with your old aunt if you’ve got a handsome man waiting on you somewhere,” May slipped her arm from his.  </p><p>“What?! You’re not old,” he objected. “And I like spending time with you.” </p><p>She lifted her hand to pat his cheek fondly. “We’ve had a good day, Petey. You go on and have a good night.”  </p><p>“Please don’t,” he begged, face twisting in mortification. He took a step away, then paused. “Are you sure?” </p><p>“Go get him, tiger.” </p><p>Her wink was outrageous, and did nothing for Peter’s growing humiliation, but certainly helped make up his mind on leaving. “All right, all right! Just stop!” </p><p>He was laughing as he turned away. He went a short distance and pulled out his phone, dialling Wade’s number, but after a dozen or so rings, hung up. Maybe it was just too noisy for Wade to hear his phone. He began to retrace his walk along the high street, scanning the crowds for Wade.   </p><p>He saw the Prestons looking at jars of homemade jam, and several of the children from the Easter Hunt chasing each other with mini flags, and Connie from <em> Tap on the Hill </em> serving beers to a small crowd, but no Wade.  </p><p>When he caught sight of Jacinta sitting at a small table with what looked to be her family, he headed towards them.  </p><p>“Hiya. You doing okay?” </p><p>“All good,<em> chico </em>,” she nodded to him, then let out a stream of rapid Spanish at one of the children smearing ketchup on his sister, who had begun to bawl loudly. </p><p>“Do you know where Wade is?” Peter asked quickly, hoping not to get drawn into the drama. He liked Jacinta, but he wasn’t in the mood for babysitting duty.  </p><p>“I know he was helping out the local P.D. today,” she informed him, retrieving several serviettes and beginning child clean-up. “Not seen him in a couple of hours though, sorry. Maybe ask Jefferson over by the fireworks.” </p><p>“Thanks,” he told her, and wandered back over to the side, away from the busiest parts of the crowds. He checked his phone again, but there was no reply from Wade. </p><p>Maybe something had happened — a fight, or another robbery? — and Wade had got caught up in it. Peter wasn’t exactly worried for Wade, not with his powers, but he did want to find him, and running up and down the street wasn’t going to get him anywhere.  </p><p>Deciding to try and call one more time before he took Jacinta’s advice, he was surprised when his call was answered after only a few rings.  </p><p>“This is Deadpool Services Limited, how may I direct your call?” Wade sing-songed in his best call-centre impression.  </p><p>“I’d like to speak to the manager, please,” Peter played along with a grin.  </p><p>“Okie-dokie, I’ll see if he’s available. What is the nature of your call?” </p><p>“I wish to make a complaint,” Peter tried to adopt a grave tone, but he was having trouble keeping the laughter out of his voice.  </p><p>Wade hummed. “I’m not sure Mr Wilson is accepting any complaints today. I’d suggest you call back another day to make an appointment. Maybe Monday. Next year.” </p><p>“What if I said it was his — his boyfriend calling?” He stumbled over the words slightly, the first time he’d actually referred to himself as such, and held his breath as he waited for Wade’s reaction.  </p><p>Wade didn’t disappoint him. Dropping the faux-sweet voice he’d put on, he answered in a low, husky, drawl, “Well I think he’d like that very much.” </p><p>“Where are you?” Peter asked. He was enjoying the silly flirting, but he wanted to see Wade in person.  </p><p>“Wanna take a guess?”  </p><p>Peter’s spider-senses screeched <em> danger </em>, and he whipped around to face the town hall across the square from the main street’s festivities, his eyes locking onto the tall clock tower and a tell-tale glint of light on metal.  </p><p>“Holy Bajeebus!!” Wade actually yelped and dropped his phone. There was the sound of scrambling before he came back on. “How did you — ? What the fuck! You’re not a psychic are you? No, can’t be, I’m pretty sure I’m immune and you’d probably have disemboweled me for some of the thoughts I  have around you…” Wade trailed off with his muttering.  </p><p>“Can I join you?” Peter asked patiently.  </p><p>“Yes! Of course!” </p><p>“All right. Be with you soon.” Peter moved to end the call but Wade shouted his name loudly. “Yeah?” </p><p>“...Can you bring me some dinner? I’m starving up here,” he whined.  </p><p>“Any preferences?”  </p><p>“Oh, <em> definitely you </em>.”  </p><p>Peter laughed. “I’ll take that as a no,” he said before hanging up, otherwise they’d go on forever.  </p><p>Twenty minutes later, he was juggling several paper bags of food as he climbed up the ladder that led to the belfry, ducking under the large bell to reach the front of the tower. He found Wade stretched out on his stomach, an eye to the scope of a very professional looking sniper rifle — and the cause of Peter’s earlier danger-sense.  </p><p>He paused, eyeing the gun warily. “Um. This isn't for a planned assassination is it?” he joked weakly.  </p><p>“Petey!” Wade craned his head around, and on seeing Peter, shuffled into a sitting position. His mouth twisted into an exaggerated pout. “You came up the stairs.” </p><p>Peter pursed his lips. “How else was I meant to get up here?” </p><p>“You tell me,” Wade waggled his brow, but Peter knew it wasn’t a serious request, especially when the next moment Wade got to his feet and pulled off his mask — and Peter would never get over how that felt, that dizzying rush of knowing Wade trusted and was comfortable with him.  </p><p>Wade’s arms slipped around his waist and brought him in close, and Peter stuck his arm out to the side before the paper bags were crushed between them, but they were the last thing on his mind a moment later as Wade started nuzzling against his cheek, dropping tiny kisses along the bridge of his nose, ending his trail with a soft kiss to his mouth.  </p><p>“Missed you, baby boy,” Wade murmured against his lips.  </p><p>Peter hummed in agreement, ghosting the fingers of his other hand over Wade’s bare head. He stroked his nails lightly against the nape of his neck until he met the leather of his costume. “Same...” </p><p>The loud gurgling of Wade’s stomach interrupted the soft moment, and Peter pulled back with a laugh. “I thought you were kidding about being starving.” </p><p>“Petey, if there is one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t joke about food.” Wade’s expression was severe for all of three seconds, before he shot pleading puppy-eyes at the bags in Peter’s hand. “Tell me you brought something good.” </p><p>At Wade’s urging, they sat down on the tiled floor, knees touching, with just enough space between them for the food.  </p><p>“So, what <em> are </em> you doing up here?” Peter asked as Wade began to rummage through the bags. Peter hadn’t known what the other man was in the mood for, and had ended up with a selection, several grilled burgers and hot dogs and a chicken wrap, along with a freshly squeezed orange juice and a rainbow coloured milkshake. From Wade’s little noises, he seemed pleased enough with Peter’s choices. </p><p>“Hmm?” Wade gave a distracted hum as he settled on the milkshake, slurping loudly through the straw. “Oh, I’m just helping out. There’s a lot of strangers in town, and cops can’t keep track of them all!” </p><p>“So they asked you to do it,” Peter summed up.  </p><p>“Yu-huh.” Wade nodded.  </p><p>“With a sniper rifle.” </p><p>“Weeeell. More or less,” the other man mumbled around the half a burger he’d now stuffed into his mouth.  </p><p>Peter had experience of how seriously Wade took his local hero duties, and Wade <em> would </em>think Fourth of July crowd control called for heavy-duty tactics, but as long as he didn’t actually shoot anyone, Peter supposed things would be all right.  </p><p>And, well, he was here now, providing a timely distraction.  </p><p>“You didn’t feel like being down there with Ellie, or the others?” Peter asked curiously. It would have been easy to keep an eye on things while also enjoying the street party.  </p><p>“I’ve never been too fussed with celebrating America-Divorces-the-British Day,” Wade explained. “Just all a bit OTT, you know?” </p><p>“You. Thinking something’s over the top. <em> You. </em>” Peter pointed at him incredulously.  </p><p>“Pssh!” Wade swatted at him playfully, then curled his hand around Peter’s and drew it down to rest upon his knee. He traced idle patterns over his knobbly knuckles and down the grooves of his palm, causing Peter’s hand to twitch at the slightly tickly feeling.  </p><p>“S’nice,” Peter mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t stop. </p><p>Wade flashed a pleased close-mouthed smirk and continued his soothing touches while he polished off the remains of the burger and juice. Shoving the wrappers and leftovers to one side, he picked up the thread of their discussion. “I can see fine from up here. Good view; can hear the music; can be waited upon by a super cute delivery service.” </p><p>“At risk of being deafened and brained when this bell begins to toll,” Peter countered.  </p><p>Wade laughed. “Nah, not today. Ain’t nobody in town hall when there’s a party going on across the street.” </p><p>It was true enough that Peter hadn’t seen anyone on his way through the building either. “I’m surprised the doors were unlocked, especially with strangers around.”  </p><p>Wade’s reply was an easy shrug. “Guess it’s just that good ol’ small town mentality; trust thy neighbour and all that.” </p><p>Peter threaded his fingers through Wade’s. “Can’t be that good; they let <em> you </em> stay, after all.” </p><p>“Ohhhh,<em> burrrrnnn </em>.” Wade grabbed at his chest. “Ouch. Petey, why you gotta hurt me this way?” </p><p>“You know I don’t mean it seriously? That you don’t belong here.” Joking was all well and good, and a staple of their friendship, but Peter was still learning the line between humour and hurt.  </p><p>Brows raised, Wade squeezed his fingers where they still lay entwined with his. “The thing about scars is you don’t bruise so easily.” </p><p>Which was convincing on the surface, but Peter was starting to think he saw through some of Wade’s bravado. “They can still hurt.” </p><p>Wade’s lips twisted into something that could have been a smile or a grimace, but was somewhere between the two, as if he couldn’t quite decide on a reaction. “I’ve made a place for myself here,” he eventually agreed. “And when I get bored or get itchy feet, I go take a job somewhere and work it out.” </p><p>It was the first time Wade’s work had come up in discussion; Peter had never asked, but Wade had to get income from somewhere. Volunteering for Egg Hunts and stranger scouting was hardly a paying role.  </p><p>Peter’s eyes glanced over the sniper rifle, still in place by the edge of the tower. “What...kind of jobs?”  </p><p>Seeing the line of his gaze, Wade’s hand slipped from his as he quickly held them up and waved them in front of Peter’s face, as if to fend off his unwelcome thoughts.  </p><p>“No, no! Only the good guys now! Commission for the Alphabet companies... You know, FBI, CIA, SHIELD, WWE — ”  </p><p>Guilt niggled through Peter. “I didn’t mean — ” </p><p>“ — sometimes the big shot hero clubs — ” </p><p>“Wade, I believe you,” he tried to interrupt. </p><p>“ — and sure, not all of them are saints, but they’re generally do-gooders — ” </p><p>“I  believe you,” Peter emphasised again, resting his hand on Wade’s knee and cutting off his panicked defence.  </p><p>“I wouldn’t do that to Ellie,” Wade made clear, expression serious.  </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>Eyes falling to his crossed legs, Wade picked at one of the buckles of his boot.  </p><p>Peter licked his lips and tried to turn them back to less fraught conversation. “How is it working with superheroes?”  </p><p>Tension eased from his frame, and Wade gave a small shrug. “Eh. Some are better than others. Avengers are all a bit hoity-toity, and nobody embodies the phrase “misery loves company” like the Defenders, but some of the X-Geeks know how to party. And Dom’s cool.” </p><p>Aside from the last, they were all names Peter recognised — had seen in and around New York, had even interacted with on the rare occasion. One or two had even tried to reach out to him to join them, but he had never taken them up on it, too afraid of his identity or age being revealed. </p><p>“It sounds nice...to be part of a team.”  </p><p>“Aww, baby!” Peter found himself engulfed in Wade’s strong arms. “You can be part of my team any day. We can have matching outfits if you want. Bet you’d look good in spandex.” </p><p>Peter’s laugh was strangled for more reasons than just Wade’s over-enthusiastic chokehold.  </p><p>There was a squeal of an electric guitar from across the street, and a scream announcing “Are — you — ready — for — Negasonic Teenage Warhead?” was blasted through the speakers.  </p><p>Wade surged up with a cheer, dragging Peter with him, and the conversation was put on hold while they moved to get a good view of the stage, Wade bopping along to their friends’ music in his seat like an excitable toddler. When the sun had fully set, the street-lights dimmed, and Mayor Kutsuna greeted the crowd from the microphone on stage. She gave thanks and compliments to the organisers and all those who’d come out to celebrate, and then cheerfully announced the fireworks display.  </p><p>“Come on, Petey!” Wade climbed over the small safety rail onto the ledge of the tower, letting his legs dangle down. He patted the place beside him, and looked hopefully over his shoulder. “Fireworks?” </p><p><em> What the hell </em>, Peter thought. They were far enough up and away that they probably wouldn’t be seen in the dark, and if the inherent romance of watching fireworks snuggled up to his boyfriend made him feel warm and sappy, he decided he was allowed.  </p><p>He joined Wade on the ledge, and shuffled closer until he could tuck himself against his side, as always enjoying the difference in their sizes and the way he could rest his cheek against Wade’s chest as his large arm wrapped around his shoulders.  </p><p>Fireworks lit up the night sky — sparks and shimmers of colour, fizzles and pops of sound — and below them, the crowd went “ooh” and “ahh” at each new burst and bang. It was a well-crafted display, Peter could admit, even though he’d never been particularly astounded by fireworks, either the display, or the concept of them. In his mind, it was an overly expensive, sometimes dangerous, and definitely wasteful form of celebration.  </p><p>Beside him, though, Wade was enthralled, grinning with childish delight. Peter found himself more interested in watching the play of light and shadows reflected in his eyes; a far more mesmerising sight.  </p><p>There was something about the way Wade threw himself wholeheartedly into any and all experiences that made Peter envious; how he enjoyed life without hesitation, and held nothing back. Peter felt he could do with a little bit of that, and luckily for him, Wade seemed more than willing to take him along for the ride.  </p><p>As the pyrotechnics ended in a truly eye-dazzling and cacophonous explosion of noise and light and smoke enough to rival even New York’s smoggiest days, the neighbouring town’s high school brass band started up a jaunty rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner. For someone who was neither American or, in his own words, a fan of Independence Day celebrations, Wade certainly sang along with gusto, but not a lot of musicality.  </p><p>“Oh my god, you sound like a dying whale,” Peter smothered his laughter against Wade’s arm.  </p><p>“ — laaaand of the fr<em> -eeeee </em> — ” </p><p>“A tone-deaf dying whale.” </p><p>“ — ho-ooo-ooome of the braaa-<em> a- </em>aaaaa-ve!” </p><p>There was a split second of silence following Wade’s final words where Peter’s spider-sense gave a muted tingle, and then the air around them filled with the deafening clap and clang of the bell. Peter yelled in alarm and slapped his hands over his ears, while beside him, Wade shrieked and flailed so much he almost dislodged himself from his perch — and certainly would have fallen if Peter hadn’t grabbed his belt and yanked him back.  </p><p>“Go, go!” Peter shouted at him. It felt like his teeth and skull were vibrating out of his skin as they clambered back over the rail and scuttled past the swinging bell to reach the small opening which led back down the tower.  </p><p>They tumbled down the ladder, Wade managing to flip the trap door shut behind him — which only muffled the worst of the noise — and slumped against the walls on either side of the narrow corridor.  </p><p>Heart pounding furiously, ears ringing violently, they stared at each other, shaken and wide-eyed as the bell above rang its final chimes.  </p><p>“You said it wouldn’t ring,” Peter blurted accusingly.  </p><p>“I didn’t see anyone!” Wade defended himself. He spared a glare upwards, voice full of disgust as he determined, “It must be an automatic program. Mother fluffer.” </p><p>A moment later they were doubled over in laughter, Peter trying to hold back his undignified snorts while Wade clutched at his stomach and wiped tears from his eyes.  </p><p>“You’re the absolute worst,” Peter informed him between snickers, trying to catch his breath.  </p><p>“I know,” Wade agreed mournfully. “Worse than Prince Humperdinck?” </p><p>Feeling elated, belly sore, and hearing more or less restored, Peter slung his arm around Wade’s waist. “Come on, then, Buttercup. Let’s get our stuff and go find the others.” </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Peter's Birthday</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Peter stared bemusedly at the envelope in his hands as the UPS driver strode off down the hall with a merry whistle. It was a lurid fuschia colour, covered in jewel hearts and shiny unicorn stickers, and it was also addressed to ‘Petey-Pie, hot guy from the science department’. He wasn’t sure how the driver had identified him as the addressee of the recorded mail, or found his apartment in the halls of residence, but somehow he had, and Peter was in absolutely no doubt about the sender: this had “Wade” written all over it, without <em> actually </em> having the hero’s name on the envelope.  </p><p>Considering it was his birthday, and he’d let slip to Wade it was coming up, he could also make a good guess as to what the card would say.  </p><p>With a quirk of his lips, Peter unsealed the envelope, only to swear at the trickle of multicoloured glitter that fell onto his feet. “Fuck!” </p><p>Resigned to the nightmare that would be cleaning his carpet later, he pulled out the inner card, which turned out to be a very glossy pale pink invitation, with embossed gold lettering that read: </p><p><b>You are cordially invited to the </b> <strike> <b>wedding</b> </strike> <b> ^</b> <b> <em>date</em> </b> <b>  </b></p><p>
  <b>of  Mr Peter Benjamin Parker </b>
</p><p>
  <b>&amp; </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Mr Wade Winston Wilson </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Saturday the 10th of August 20** </b>
</p><p>
  <b>At Eleven O’Clock in the Morning </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Kendall Square, Cambridge, Massachusetts, US </b>
</p><p>“What the…!” </p><p>Confused and curious, Peter scrambled through his bed covers for his phone, quickly bringing up his messages.  </p><p>
  <b>&lt;&lt; Wade, what’s going on?? </b>
</p><p>It was a long minute before he got Wade’s reply.  </p><p>
  <em> &gt;&gt; All the information’s on the card! See you soon ;) Xx  </em>
</p><p>Invitation in one hand, phone in the other, and his bedside clock flashing 10:27 in neon red, Peter let out a short panicked yell. If Wade was being serious — and Peter had no reason to doubt him with this, because a surprise birthday date seemed very much like something Wade would do — he didn’t have long to make himself semi-presentable. </p><p>Tossing both items onto his bed, Peter hurriedly stripped from his casual shorts and tee and made a beeline for the shower, hissing at the chill of the water as he dived into the stall without waiting for it to warm up. He lathered shampoo into his hair with one hand, slapped shower gel onto his body with the other, and scrubbed himself from head to toe faster than he’d ever done as a teenager running late for school.  </p><p>Hopping out, he wiped himself dry and wrapped the towel around his waist. In front of the sink, he shaved away the small amount of stubble that had grown overnight, brushed his teeth, and ran his fingers through his still-damp hair in place of a proper comb, leaving his fringe to fall down in easy waves to frame his face.  </p><p>In his room, he rummaged through his wardrobe, retrieving underwear and his least ripped pair of dark grey jeans. A plain white tee followed, and then a light knit long sweater in emerald green which fitted snugly over his shoulders but hung long and loose around his waist.  </p><p>He glanced at his clock. 10:52.  </p><p>He pulled on his battered navy converse, and stuffed his phone, wallet and keys into his messenger bag, before racing out of his apartment and squeezing into the elevator seconds before it closed. He pressed the button for the lobby, and tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh as he watched the floor numbers light up and dim.  </p><p>It was ridiculous, he thought with a wry sigh, how officially calling it a date left him flustered and unsure, when in truth they’d been dating for months. In fairness to himself, the “surprise” aspect and only half an hour to get ready also had a lot to do with his nerves, but this was <em> Wade.  </em></p><p>“Oh god,” he muttered as the doors opened, because he’d just realised — <em> this was Wade </em>, and he had absolutely no idea what he might consider a suitable date activity. Too late to reconsider now, because it was 11 a.m., and he was walking into Kendall Square. </p><p>He saw the tuk-tuk first: a squat, three-wheeled thing, painted a bright sunshine yellow, with fairy lights strung around the canopy and gauzy ribbons and flowers around the windscreen and side mirrors the likes of which Peter had only seen at weddings. Standing next to it, cheerfully ignoring the glances and whispers from onlookers, was a young Asian man holding up a laminated sign with “Mr Peter” on the front.  </p><p>At least it wasn’t a helicopter, Peter thought with mixed embarrassment and relief, and hurried over. “Hi… I’m, um, Peter.” </p><p>The young man gave a wide, toothy, smile and lowered his sign. “Hello, Mr Peter, sir. I am Dopinder, and I will be your driver today.” </p><p>“Nice to meet you...Where, where are we going?”  </p><p>Dopinder’s smile morphed into a genuinely apologetic expression. “Ah. I am unable to tell you that. Mr Pool has made me promise to keep it a surprise.” </p><p>Peter had thought as much, but there was no harm in trying to get some more information on their destination. “That’s all right.” </p><p>“Will you please take a seat now?” Dopinder motioned to the back of the tuk-tuk. “Once you are ready, we shall be off.” </p><p>Peter hopped up into the back seat and fastened the belt across his waist, leaving his messenger bag on so it wouldn’t slide out of the open sides as they drove.  </p><p>In front of him, Dopinder had also taken his place behind the wheel, however in the next moment twisted in his seat and held out a silver tray bearing a tropical looking cocktail.  </p><p>“Piña Colada?” he offered. “I have a non-alcoholic version if you should prefer it. Or if it is not to your tastes, I will gladly fetch you something else that is.” </p><p>“Um…This is fine, thanks.” Peter took it hesitantly. It did look pretty, decorated with pineapple slices and a little umbrella and curly straw, but it wasn’t how he was expecting to start the day. Still, the fresh and fruity flavour burst across his tongue as he took a sip and settled back into the cushioned seat.  </p><p>“Would you care for a blanket to be tucked around you?” Dopinder carried on. “I am happy to do it so that you may continue your drinking.” </p><p>“It’s August,” Peter pointed out with a small chuckle.  </p><p>“There may be wind while we drive,” Dopinder answered seriously. “And Mr Pool has asked me to take special care of you. He would not like it if you were feeling cold.” </p><p>“I promise I’ll ask for it if I need it,” Peter reassured him.  </p><p>“Very well. I shall do my driverly checks and then we will go.”  </p><p>Peter watched as Dopinder fiddled with the mirrors and the dials on the dash, and tugged on his own belt to make sure it was secure. Only then did he turn the key and start the ignition, correctly signaling before he pulled out onto the road.  </p><p>“Are you from Boston?” Peter asked after a few minutes of Dopinder carefully navigating the streets around MIT, heading out towards the edge of town.  </p><p>“I am not,” he answered openly, meeting Peter’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I live in New York, for that is where my wonderful Gita lives, and that is where I drive my taxi.” </p><p>Puzzled, Peter tried to clarify, “Wait...so how come you’re here today?” </p><p>“Mr Pool requested me to come to drive you,” Dopinder told him.  </p><p>It was said simply and with such easy acceptance that, for a second, Peter thought he’d misheard. He leaned forward against the divider between the driver and backseats, his cocktail momentarily forgotten. “Wade asked you to come to Boston...specifically for this?”  </p><p>“That is correct!” </p><p>“And you…you did it, just like that?” He tried to keep his feelings from his tone, but he was honestly baffled at the very idea of it. “<em> Why? </em>” </p><p>“Mr Pool is a very generous person, and he offers good reward for my taxi services. And excellent high-fives.” He gave Peter a conspiritative look, as if Peter was meant to understand the significance of the gesture. “But even if he was not so good at them, I would still be happy to do the things he asks, for he is a long-time friend. It was he who finally showed me what I must do to win my Gita’s love.”  </p><p>“Oh?” Peter was intrigued by this new insight into Wade’s past.  </p><p>“Oh yes!” Dopinder nodded vigorously. “It is a very romantic tale…” </p><p>As the buildings of Boston fell away to suburbs and the highway, Peter listened raptly as Dopinder recounted his story of love at first sight mixed with pining and despair, followed by Wade’s timely arrival in his life which inspired his “pinch of courage”, and winning the heart of his self-proclaimed soulmate.  </p><p>Peter’s first impression of Dopinder had been a rather meek and cheerful young man, a bit innocent and over-earnest, and too willing to put his own wellbeing to the side in favour of others’ needs. While that was certainly still true, it was only half the picture, Peter quickly realised, for Dopinder also possessed an uncharacteristic generosity of spirit and unwavering loyalty, to his fiancée and to his friends.  </p><p>The world would be a kinder place if there were more Dopinders in it, Peter thought.  </p><p>“Bandhu has never forgiven me for the kidnapping and the cutting off of his ear,” Dopinder said sadly, bringing Peter’s idle thoughts to a screeching halt.  </p><p>“...Kidnapping?” he asked weakly.  </p><p>“This is how I won my Gita,” Dopinder explained. “Remove my rival, Mr Pool told me. And I did.”  </p><p>Peter rescinded some of his previous opinion: generosity, loyalty, and a light sprinkling of insanity. <em> Now </em> his friendship with Wade made sense.  </p><p>He wondered where that put <em> him </em>.  </p><p>“He said that, huh?” </p><p>“It does make family gatherings very awkward,” Dopinder acknowledged, before his mood lifted once more. “However, my Gita and I are very happy. We will be married very soon, I hope. We shall invite you and Mr Pool to the wedding, of course.” </p><p>At a loss, the only thing Peter could think to say was, “That’s very nice. We’d love to come.” </p><p>It was probably just as well Peter was familiar with and accepted Wade’s particular version of crazy at this point; he remembered their first few encounters, and the initial shock and disbelief he’d felt. If he’d heard half these stories before really getting to know Wade, who knew if they’d have become friends, let alone romantically involved.  </p><p>It was funny how life twisted and turned, and coincidences brought about wonders.  </p><p>Peter did not believe in fate, or any higher power, really, beyond those which were held by people such as him — mutants, as some called them, but ultimately human, and in the end responsible for themselves. </p><p>To think otherwise was to leave himself open to anger and regret, and he’d had his fair share of that.  </p><p>He suspected Wade had too.   </p><p>He was jolted from his thoughts as Dopinder announced, “We’re almost there!” </p><p>From the exit they’d taken out of Boston, Peter had known they weren’t headed to Berry Hill; they’d only been on the road for half an hour, and he didn’t know the other counties well enough to guess where they might be.  </p><p>A short while longer, and the tuk-tuk was turning off the main road onto a narrower drive, and Peter saw trees in the distance. After a few more moments, a large sign proclaimed their destination: TreeTop Adventures. </p><p>Peter’s brows shot up to his hairline, and the initial excitement he’d felt on opening Wade’s card bubbled up in his chest as he peered out the open sides of the vehicle, and spilled forth into laughter when he caught sight of the man himself.  </p><p>Wade stood before the turnstile entrance, dressed in a black and white tux and holding a colourfully wrapped gift box. He was already walking over as Dopinder parked, and Peter had barely released his belt and stepped out of the vehicle before Wade was thrusting the present into his hands.  </p><p>“Happy Birthday!” He pulled a party-popper from somewhere, yanking the small string and releasing the confetti and streamers over Peter’s head. “For heeee’s a jolly good fell-ooow, for heeee’s a jolly — ” he began to sing, only to break off and hiss, “<em> Dopinder, what the hell? Where’s my back-up? </em>” </p><p>Dopinder hurried around the side of the tuk-tuk, a striped party blower between his lips. “Habby birrfffday to you!” he tried to articulate around the plastic tube, only for it to unfurl with a pitiful toot. </p><p>“We rehearsed this!” Wade wailed, flailing his arms in exaggerated distress.  </p><p>Peter reached out and grasped one of his hands, tugging him close enough to press a kiss to the chin of his mask. “Thank you — both of you.”  </p><p>“Aww, shucks…” Wade reached out and plucked a few wayward pieces of confetti from his hair. “Just wanna make it special for you.” </p><p>“It’s feeling pretty special already,” Peter said honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone to such lengths to plan a surprise day out for him — not since Ben and May had taken him to the Stark Expo as a kid.  </p><p>“Open your gift!” Wade instructed, positively bouncing at his side.  </p><p>Peter glanced down at the present he had forgotten he was still holding; the wrapping paper was patterned with dinosaurs, and the red and black bow — Deadpool colours, he was amused to note — was twice the size of the box it was stuck onto. Resting it in the crook of his elbow, Peter tore away the paper on one side.  </p><p>Out fell a plushie in the shape of an octopus. </p><p>“What do I do with this?” he asked, laughing at it and poking one of its squidgy round arms.  </p><p>“It’s reversible!” Wade snatched it from his hands, and held it up next to his cheek. “I figured you could keep it on your desk while teaching. You know. Smiley face — ‘You May Approach’ — ” He squeezed its head until the soft pink inverted to a pale teal. “ — Angry face — ‘Not Today, Satan’.” Wade accompanied his explanation with the appropriate facial expressions.  </p><p>Peter snorted, retrieving his plushie and brushing a hand over the soft head and stitching of its grumpy eyes. “I’m not sure the ‘happy face’ is gonna get much use in that case…” </p><p>“Noo….Don’t say that!” Wade’s arms wrapped around him, and he pressed his face against Peter’s hair. </p><p>“I didn’t really mean it.” Peter’s words were muffled by the lapels of Wade’s jacket. The material was silky smooth against his cheek, and smelled faintly of jasmine.  </p><p>“Shh…” Wade petted his hair like a cat. “Daddy’s here. I’ll make everything better.” </p><p>Peter let himself be held for a few more moments, then tapped out against Wade’s hip. “As much as I’m enjoying this...I assume we have a reservation?” </p><p>“Eek!” Wade sprang into action, tugging at the strap of Peter’s messenger bag and trying to pull it over his head, only managing to tangle it further around him.  </p><p>“Leave it!” Peter demanded with a laugh, swatting Wade away. He removed his bag himself and patted down his ruffled hair as Wade grabbed it from his hands — along with the plushie, and the remains of wrapping and ribbon, and pushed it into Dopinder’s arms.  </p><p>“Look after our stuff!” </p><p>“I will protect it to the best of my abilities,” the other man vowed, “with the weapon you so kindly bought me for my birthday.” </p><p>Peter gawked at him. “Wh — ” </p><p>“It’s just a taser!” Wade cut over his question in panic, and ushered Peter towards the entrance as if it was Peter who had delayed them. “Moving on quickly!”  </p><p>“Have fun!” Dopinder shouted, waving after them.  </p><p>They made their way through the turnstiles, and Wade presented their tickets to the staff on the welcome desk; the teenage girl — probably a weekend worker — stared at Wade with wide-eyes the whole time, and dropped their waiver forms as she passed them under the glass screen. Wade didn’t even have his katanas today. They quickly signed, and Peter gave her a reassuring smile as he handed them back.  </p><p>“Which way?” </p><p>She merely pointed to the left.  </p><p>As they walked down the wood-chipped pathway, Peter glanced around him with a small frown. It was a Saturday lunchtime, and yet they were the only two people in sight, other than a few employees here and there.  </p><p>“Wade, tell me you didn’t book out the whole place?” he asked with dawning horror.  </p><p>Beside him, Wade’s shoulders hunched. “Fine, I won’t.” </p><p>It was clear Wade was expecting some kind of rebuke; his first instinct <em> was </em> to protest, but Peter bit his tongue against the words before he could say them; what purpose would it serve except to make him seem churlish and ungrateful. And he wasn’t — ungrateful, that is. Wade had done this for him, had gone to effort and time and yes, probably cost, and Peter wanted to let go, relax, give himself over to Wade’s plans for the day and enjoy this birthday and romantic adventure.  </p><p>“Okay,” he said.  </p><p>“Okay?” Wade eyed him with wary hope.  </p><p>Peter shrugged. “Okay,” he repeated with emphasis.  </p><p>Wade cheered instantly, and skipped his way down to a clear area where a slightly older woman waited. She had short, cropped brown hair, and was wearing comfortable khakis and a fleece with the company’s logo.  </p><p>“Hi there! I’m Emma, and I’ll be going through your orientation today.” </p><p>“Pansexual!” Wade’s hand shot into the air like a pupil in class. </p><p>“That’s, ah, that’s great!” Emma maintained her professional smile, but there was a twinkle of humour in her eyes. She seemed to be taking Wade’s outfit and general presence in stride. “Not quite what I meant though. Have either of you done anything like this before?” </p><p>“Something like it,” Peter mumbled, thinking of days of web-slinging and wall-crawling.  </p><p>“...Not <em> with </em> the safety harness,” Wade added, and there was another story there, Peter was certain.  </p><p>“Alrighty,” she rocked on her heels and nodded. “Well, I’ll have to take you through the standard Instructional Safety Briefing anyhow, and then we’ll get you fitted up with your harnesses and let you get on.” </p><p>She kept things brief but engaging as she ran through the site facilities and explained the rules of the course, including the different trails and how to identify them. They’d have to go through the difficulty levels in order, from Beginner and Intermediate, through to Advanced and Expert; Peter thought Wade might object, but he seemed content enough with following instructions, even if he kept getting distracted by squirrels in the trees.  </p><p>When it came to fitting their harness, Emma gave Wade a very pointed once over. “We usually advise our climbers to wear <em> sensible </em> clothes for their sessions, for their own comfort — ” </p><p>“I <em> am </em> comfortable!” Wade insisted.  </p><p>“ — and so as not to accidentally damage them.” </p><p>“I — Hm. You have a point there...One sec.” </p><p>Peter and Emma watched as Wade gripped the waistband of his slacks, wiggled, and then ripped them off his body in true Magic Mike style, presenting them to each side like a matador’s cape. Tossing the slacks aside, he positioned his hands on the lapels on his chest, waggled his brow, and yanked — only to shriek as the buttons went flying in all directions but the jacket and shirt remained in place.  </p><p>Lips twitching, Peter faced Emma. “You, uh, you mentioned something about gear?” </p><p>They dutifully ignored Wade’s swearing in the background as he wrestled off the rest of the tux.  </p><p>Within half an hour, they were fitted with their harnesses and the state of the art Smart Safe Belay system which would have them always connected to the lifeline cable. Wade immediately tried to figure out if he could circumnavigate the failsafe mechanism when Emma’s back was turned, and pouted when he couldn’t.  </p><p>“That’s you all set!” Emma announced. “Let me show you the main platform and you can get started.” </p><p>Peter tugged at the fingerless gloves on his hands as he and Wade followed behind. Low enough not to be overheard, he voiced his curiosity: “What made you pick this as a date?” </p><p>Wade looked up from where he’d been tugging at the harness straps between his thighs and muttering about wedgies. “Not sure,” he answered breezily. “Something about you just said ‘likes to climb trees’ to me.” </p><p>Peter bit his lip to hide a smile. “I don’t know where you got that idea from.” </p><p>“Me either.” Wade shrugged, and let his body sway into Peter’s, brushing against his side companionably.  </p><p>Emma led them to the green-marked trails, oddly named the Cliffs of Moher; the other trails also paid homage to Irish landmarks, and Peter wondered at the connection, but not enough to ask. There was a buzzing under his skin, and he was eager to get up onto the tree-top walkways.  </p><p>Emma seemed to sense their excitement, and quickly clipped their SSB lines to the cable, and reminded them of how to switch their clips between points.  </p><p>“I’ll be around, so just give us a shout if you need a rescue. You’ve pretty much got the rest of the day booked, so… take your time and enjoy!” </p><p>She stepped away, and Peter approached the rope ladder that led to the first starting platform. He glanced over his shoulder, but Wade gestured for him to go ahead.  </p><p>“Birthday Boy gets dibs,” he grinned.  </p><p>Peter stepped onto the first rung, and gave a teasing smile in return. “You just want an excuse to stare at my ass.” </p><p>Wade caught the fingers of one hand, and pressed them to his mask-covered cheek as he let out a low groan. “You’re deliberately trying to kill me, aren’t you?” </p><p>“If I was trying to do that,” Peter murmured in a low tone, “I would have worn booty shorts.”  </p><p>With that, he twisted his hand out of Wade’s hold, and scaled up the ropes to the first platform. There, he took less than a second to assess the wood and rope bridge that was the first obstacle, and then he was off —  </p><p>He was fifteen — balanced on the thin ledge of a rooftop with his heart in his throat, about to jump off for the first time —  </p><p>He was soaring over the New York skyline with the city as his playground, his body twisting and turning and tumbling and falling, suspended by the strength of strands of white webbing —  </p><p>He was chasing and being chased; he was ducking punches and kicking out, his senses a dull throb of <em> danger </em> and <em> look out </em> while inside him, something finally settled and felt right, because he wasn’t just Peter Parker, he was Sp —  </p><p>He was here and now, racing through tree tops on thin beams and thinner ropes, and he was no longer Spider-Man, not really, but it was close enough, closer to that taste of power and freedom than he’d allowed himself to feel in so long, and it was overwhelming in its intensity. </p><p>On the platform at the end of the trail, a concerned and maskless Wade wiped tears from the corners of his eyes that he hadn’t even realised were there.  </p><p>“Petey…”  </p><p>“No, I’m okay.” Peter laughed, and it was a little breathless, a little wild, but it was <em> good </em>. “I want to do more.” </p><p>Wade’s finger stroked over his cheek, and his eyes were bright with tenderness, wide with reverence.  </p><p>“Whatever you want, darling.” </p><p>For the first time, Peter thought he might actually deserve it; for the first time, he felt sure enough of himself and his wishes and his desires to have an answer: </p><p>“You,” Peter said firmly. “I want you.” </p><p>Lifting his arms to twine around Wade’s neck, Peter kissed him with a fierceness that matched the thrum of his blood, the rising, restless joy in his soul. Wade’s large hands circled his hips, crept under the folds of his shirt to sweep against the skin of his belly, causing shivers to starburst across his skin. </p><p>It felt like he was standing at the edge of the abyss, Wade at the foot of it, with an offer of love and devotion and a future if he was brave enough to take it.  </p><p>He leapt. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>At the end of the day, Peter lay slumped against Wade in his seat, tired and content and feeling more than a little bit mushy. Several gift bags and Peter’s octopus sat between them; at some point Wade had given Peter’s “Birthday Climber” t-shirt to Dopinder, who had pulled it on over his clothes, while Wade had managed to finagle half a dozen of the souvenir wristbands for himself, and wore them on both wrists.  </p><p>They’d gone through all ten trails in the various difficulties, some more than once, then stuffed themselves silly on pizza and fries and milkshakes at a nearby restaurant, before piling into the tuk-tuk for Dopinder to drive them back to Boston.  </p><p>Wade’s fingers played with the tousled strands of his hair, his soft breath ghosting over his face, and every now and then he nuzzled along the sensitive skin behind his ear, and peppered gentle, close-mouthed kisses along his jaw, that made Peter’s toes curl and his body melt.  </p><p>At the entrance to Peter’s residence, Wade lingered; every line of his body, every touch, every heated look spoke of longing, of adoration, and Peter felt burned from the inside out.  </p><p>“Do you...want to come up with me?” he asked, throat raspy, red painted high across his cheeks.  </p><p>“You sure?” Wade choked out.  </p><p>“Yeah, yeah I am.” He didn’t want to part ways yet; he wasn’t ready for today to end.  </p><p>Wade cleared his throat. “Should I...should I ask Dopinder to wait?” </p><p>He was always so ready to put Peter first, and it was a revelation to him. “Tell him he should come back tomorrow...or even better, just let him go home.” </p><p>Peter waited as Wade gave his farewells to Dopinder — and an exuberant high five, he was amused to see — and then they were entering the halls. They got into the elevator together, standing side by side, just a brush of their arms against each other. Tension and desire was thick between them, turning Peter’s throat dry with nerves, his legs shaky with anticipation.  </p><p>He couldn’t quite recall the walk to his apartment door, fumbling for his keys to unlock it, while Wade stood behind him, large and warm and <em> wanting —  </em></p><p>And then they were inside, and the door was closed, and they were reaching for each other, almost desperately. </p><p>Peter moaned breathlessly into Wade’s neck at the touch of his hands as they stroked across his body, a firm sweep down his back, to curl around his hips, and pull him in close. His dick filled, Wade’s answering hardness jutting into his hip. His hands slid up Wade’s chest, and to his nape to tug the mask from his collar and draw it as gently as he could over Wade’s head with trembling fingers. He dropped it; forgotten and unneeded at their feet.  </p><p>“Baby, I want you so much,” Wade whispered, earnest in his longing, vocal in his worship.  </p><p>“You have me,” were the only words Peter could give him, an inevitable truth that had been building over months. “Whatever you want.” </p><p>Wade simply groaned, kissed him hard and fast and long — enough to make his head spin as he gasped for air in between one kiss and the next, clinging to Wade’s shoulders like a lifeline.  </p><p>“<em> Wade </em>…” he panted.  </p><p>“Too fast?” The blue of his irises were shining rims around pupils blown wide, and still he paused, still he gentled his touch on Peter’s waist, even though his fingers twitched involuntarily, as if he couldn’t make himself let go completely. “Do you need me to slow down?” </p><p>“I need you to — to touch me,” Peter demanded, his lips trailing across Wade’s jaw, reaching his earlobe which he pulled into his mouth to suck and nibble.  </p><p>Wade seemed to buckle, and then he simply went with it, dropping to his knees in front of Peter. They were still by the door of the apartment, hadn’t even made it past the small kitchen nook, but it was too late to care, too late to move on because Wade was yanking off his gloves, was pushing up Peter’s sweater and mouthing along his stomach even as he undid Peter’s belt, as his fingers flicked open the button and eased the zip down over his straining erection.  </p><p>Packets of  instant noodles and cup-a-soups went tumbling to the floor as Peter reached blindly behind him, seeking something, anything, to brace himself against. His hands curled around the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip as Wade slid his jeans and underwear down his thighs. “Fuck, fuck, <em> please </em> — ” </p><p>It had been so long, and he was so hard, and Wade was gazing up at him like he was everything he’d ever wanted and <em> more, </em> and Peter couldn’t look away.  </p><p>He all but whimpered as Wade’s hand wrapped around the base of his dick, scarred and soft and sure as he learned Peter’s shape and length, the flare of his flushed head, already dribbling with precum.  </p><p>“I got you, baby, I got you — ” </p><p>Lips closed around him and he was engulfed in wet heat. He keened as Wade sucked, his cheeks hollowing as he swallowed Peter down entirely, letting loose a low moan that vibrated around his dick, caused him to call out helplessly, “Wade, Wade!” </p><p>He couldn’t help reaching out for him, unclenching one hand from the counter to run his fingers over Wade’s cheek, to trace his lips where they were parted and stretched around him, to anchor himself on Wade’s broad shoulder.  </p><p>He was still dressed, still covered by red and black leather, and Peter could only think of what it would finally be like to remove it, to see all of him and press himself against bare skin. Peter wanted to kiss and touch and discover Wade in the way he was doing to him now — breaking him apart with his eager mouth and teasing touches to his trembling thighs, his tight balls, the wrinkled skin behind.  </p><p>“Yes…like that, I — ” he pleaded through dry, bitten lips, took in a gasping breath to warn, “Close — ” </p><p>Wade sucked harder, squeezed his hand tighter. Everything about his touch and expression urged without words for Peter to <em> let go </em>, to give himself over to the pleasure and feelings that Wade was bringing him, that Wade would hold him steady through it, would be there for him —  </p><p>Peter’s orgasm hit him like the crash of waves, like a  bolt of lightning, sharp pleasure that made him cry out and squeeze his eyes shut even as he wanted to keep watching. He drew in deep lungfuls of air as Wade swallowed him down.  </p><p>And then Wade was pulling away from his softening dick, coming to his feet and gathering Peter, weak-kneed and flushed, into his arms, kissing his cheek and his nose and the sweat-damp edges of his hairline.  </p><p>“You’re so good, Petey, so beautiful,” he crooned against his skin, and Peter believed he meant it.  </p><p>Huffing in a deep breath, he relaxed into Wade’s hold, and met Wade’s gaze, soft and gentle and sweet. He brushed his fingers over Wade’s jaw, his ear, kissed the edge of his lips. “What about you?” </p><p>“I don’t…” He began, cut off. An edge of worry darkened his eyes, his large shoulders hunching ever so slightly, and Peter understood. Showing his face and hands to Peter was different to exposing everything, and there was want, but there was anxiety too.  </p><p>“It’s okay,” Peter soothed, kissing him again. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.” </p><p>“Peter…” His voice was wrecked with need, and he buried his face into the crook of Peter’s neck with something like relief, a gratitude that was unnecessary, because Peter wanted to make Wade feel good, only ever good.  </p><p>He nuzzled against the sensitive skin behind Wade’s ear, reaching down to palm Wade’s erection through the suit. Wade mewled, began panting open-mouthed against his skin as Peter rubbed him with firm strokes, his own hands clutching at the small of Peter’s back, moving down to palm the cheeks of his ass.  </p><p>“You make me feel so good,” Peter murmed into his ear, “just want to do the same for you…” </p><p>Wade gave a punched-out sound, and Peter suddenly found himself lifted up and onto the edge of the counter, Wade crowding against him in between his thighs.  </p><p>“You do, you do,” he promised, and his kiss was almost frantic now, his hands clumsy as he reached between them and undid his fly. He released his dick from its confines and their hands bumped into each other, fingers tangling together as Peter took hold of him. He only had a few moments to appreciate the size and texture before Wade was shuddering in his arms and whimpering into his mouth, and hot cum splashed over his bare thighs and softened dick.  </p><p>They continued to kiss, and Peter rubbed soothing circles on Wade’s wrist with his thumb, until Wade at last caught his breath and pulled back, but only to nuzzle his nose to Peter’s.  </p><p>“Good?” Peter asked.  </p><p>“Good,” Wade replied, and he sounded dazed and sleepy, and it was Peter who had brought him to this.  </p><p>He shifted on the counter, and grimaced as he became aware of the stickiness of his crotch, and the sweatiness of the rest of him.  </p><p>“I need a shower, and then how about we just settle down and sleep for tonight, hmm?” </p><p>Wade’s eyes lit up and he added a hopeful, “Can we cuddle too?” </p><p>“Yes,” Peter laughed, and reached for a roll of kitchen towel beside him, wiping away most of the mess. Wade drew back to give enough room for him to pull his underwear and jeans back on, though Peter didn’t bother doing them up, as he was just going to undress again momentarily.  </p><p>“I’ll be quick,” he reassured him, and glanced towards the other half of his room: his bed was rumpled, and clothes were still strewn across the floor from this morning’s rush of getting ready. “Um...sorry about the mess.” </p><p>“Psh, I’ve had much worse places.” Wade waved away his concerns, tucking himself back into his suit.  </p><p>Peter grabbed the tee and shorts he’d slept in last night. “I don’t know if I’ll have anything that might fit you, but you’re welcome to whatever you can find,” he offered. “Might be better than sleeping in the suit — although that’s also okay,” he was quick to add.  </p><p>“I’ll manage,” Wade told him with a smile.  </p><p>Peter shut himself in the bathroom and cleaned up as quickly as possible, leaving his clothes in a pile on the hamper and dressing in his usual sleepwear. When he stepped out, his heart gave a little flip in his chest when he saw that Wade had taken “settle down” seriously. The main lights were off, the room lit only by Peter’s small side lamp; there was a glass of water on the bedside table, along with Peter’s phone, and the invitation from that morning propped up against his clock; Wade had even plumped the pillows and sorted out the covers, leaving one corner turned down in invitation.  </p><p>Wade glanced up from where he was placing the Octopus plushie on top of the pillows; he’d turned it back to its smiley face, and maybe Peter would be using that one after all.  </p><p>He had indeed managed to find something to wear, unlikely though Peter had thought: a pair of grey sweats so stretched and worn they were one step away from falling apart, and a joke t-shirt that May had got him one year which was three sizes too big on Peter, but still seemed a little tight on Wade.  </p><p>“Should I be jealous?” Wade teased as he plucked at the large Hulk face on the front of the shirt.  </p><p>“Only got one superhero vacancy going,” Peter answered as he came forwards and slipped his arms around Wade’s waist. “And I’m pretty sure it’s taken.” </p><p>“It’s me, right?” Wade pouted. “<em> Right </em>?” </p><p>Peter dropped his face against Wade’s chest, a helpless laugh spilling out.  </p><p>“Yes, only you.” </p><p>Wade pressed his face to Peter’s hair and gave a happy little hum. “Bed?” </p><p>Peter turned off the lamp, and they slipped under the covers together, and although it was the first time they’d shared a bed, it felt easy to lie down and shuffle until they made themselves comfortable. Peter lay on his back and Wade curled against his side, his head pillowed against his shoulder, his left arm wrapped around his waist, and his leg thrown over his thigh.  </p><p>“Don’t need the octopus when I’ve got you,” Peter said through his smile, moving his hand to his stomach where he could link his fingers with Wade’s. </p><p>“Not an octopus,” Wade mumbled into his neck. “‘m a sq-Wade.” </p><p>Peter groaned at the awful pun, although his smile remained as they fell into sleepy silence. </p><p>He felt light, and happy, with the memories of the day playing out in his mind. He could think of no better way to end it than this, snuggled together and falling asleep to the sound of Wade’s gentle snores. </p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <strong> <span class="u">Epilogue - Halloween II</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Peeeeteyyy! You’re taking longer than Ellie, and she’s going as Te Fiti! We’re bored of waiting!” </p><p>Peter stared at his reflection in the mirror, feeling faintly ill. He remembered another moment in this bathroom, over eight months ago, where he had questioned his decisions and his actions; there was irony in the repeated moment, he was sure, but he was too strung out with nerves to find humour in it just now.  </p><p>He ran his hand over the bold colours of his costume, not nearly bright enough to disguise the pallor of his cheeks, the faint worry in his eyes.  </p><p>They were going trick-or-treating. He could have chosen any outfit, one which he hadn’t had to keep secret for a month in the face of Wade’s ever-growing wheedling, which wouldn’t have left him with sleepless nights as he agonised over what to do. So many good options flashed through his mind — a ninja, to match Wade; a Disney character to match Ellie. </p><p><em> Why </em> had he picked this again? </p><p>Like many moments in life, he supposed, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.  </p><p>“Coming!” he called in a surprisingly level voice, twisting the lock and turning the handle to open the door of the bathroom. He took a fortifying breath and stepped out in the living room.  </p><p>On the sofa, Ellie and Wade abruptly stopped their tickle-fight, their heads whipping round to face him. While Ellie scrambled off the sofa to come and have a closer look, Peter’s focus was on Wade, who seemed frozen in place, his face expressionless, unreadable even without the mask.  </p><p>“Who’re you meant to be?” Ellie asked, her green-painted face scrunched up as she tried to work it out; she had been too young to know of him.   </p><p>Peter’s eyes remained locked on Wade’s, anxiety crawling up his spine; it was to him he gave his answer, to him he revealed the final piece of himself.  </p><p>“I am — <em> was </em> — Spider-Man.” </p><p>A second of silence as the truth settled between them, and then Wade’s eyes widened dramatically, his mouth falling open even as he lifted his arm to point at Peter.  </p><p>“You — !” </p><p>Peter gave a weak nod. </p><p>“But! Shitballs — Wh— really, <em> you </em>?”  </p><p>“Yeah,” Peter sighed.   </p><p>Wade bolted from the sofa, almost tripping over the edge of the rug as he came to stand before Peter. His eyes darted across Peter’s face and body, the lines that weaved between red and blue, the spider that sat in the centre of his chest, the white-eyed mask that he clutched in one fist.  </p><p>“This — is — a-MAZ-ing!” The sound he made was a literal squeal, and he danced from one foot to the other, his words punctuated with excited claps.  </p><p>His reaction was...so much more than Peter had ever expected, and he swayed as the tension left his body, blinking back the sting of tears from his eyes. “Is it?” he croaked out.  </p><p>“Oh my god, <em> yes </em>!” Wade looked so ecstatic and gleeful, like a whole year of holidays had rolled into one.  </p><p>At their side, Ellie prodded her father’s stomach. “I don’t get it,” she groused.  </p><p>“Daddy and Petey are just having a grown-up conversation, sweetie-pops.” Wade flicked the end of her nose, and she slapped his hand away.  </p><p>“Well, can you have it <em> later </em>?” she whined. “River and Sophie are gonna get all the good sweets!” </p><p>Hands on hips, Wade harrumphed. “Well, we can’t have that. Go get your shoes, and we can go.” </p><p>As she scuttled off, Wade shot Peter a look heavy with meaning. “We <em> will </em> be talking about it later,” he vowed, “A very long, very <em> adult </em>, discussion.” </p><p>It was a warning and a promise, and one Peter was glad to accommodate.  </p><p>“I look forward to it.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- End</strong>
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